#and yes I realize their joint structure is not set up for their skin being an exoskeleton

[theoldandnewfirm]

WHAT IF TROLL SKIN WAS AN EXOSKELETON

Sorry, I got ten words into a fic that required a troll to encounter a caustic plant and had to stop and spend the next hour working through the logistics of troll skin.

[subbing-for-clones]

She Who Walks the Line Between Part 2

Maul x GreyJedi!Reader

Word Count: 2729

WARNINGS: pain, mentions of injuries, starting of some light fluff.

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       You led the crimson and black Zabrack past your small crop field, where a large wooden table and a few stumps scattered around it sat. You placed the basket of clay to your side and took a seat, with an open hand motioned for him to settle across from you. He took your que and rested his legs down beneath him unable to sit comfortably on the wood. You folded your hands under your chin, elbows resting on the table and looked into his eyes. He fidgeted in place, uncomfortable by your unblinking gaze. He wouldn't meet your eye for longer than a few moments and stared at the Meiloorun trees that grew not far from where you two sat.

    Following his eyeline you stood and picked a few of the fruits, bringing them back to your half-starved guest and watched as he quickly ravished the purple fruits. While he was otherwise occupied you stood behind him and looked closer where his body ended and the jumbled mess of scrap began. Not just his legs but he was severed through his torso. You reached a hand out and lightly touched the lowest part of his back before the metal formed. He jumped back shocked at the touch and you raised your hands to show him you weren't going to hurt him.

"I can give you your body back rather easily however your mind is fragmented and scrambled. It will be a process but I'd like to restore you to your original form."

He had finished the fruit you offered him and stared at you in disbelief.

"That... that’s impossible." He sat wide eyed. "There's nothing to connect, my other half is... gone."

"I don't mean to reconnect you but to recreate you. That's what the clay is for." You motioned towards the basket.

"How?" He asked shocked staring at the clay and turning back to you with narrow eyes.

"In my distaste for cybernetic bodies I've learned how to regrow limbs and various body parts out of the clay found on this world. It has special properties in it. It will require much physical therapy but it can be done if you allow it."

He thought for a moment, as clearly as he could anyway and looked down at the mess of limbs beneath him. His eyes continued their narrowed stare at you.

"What do I have to do? What do you want from me?"

"Honestly?" You started with a cocked brow. "I just want some peace. That’s why I live here in solitude, the search for peace. But your suffering has reached my mind all the way out here. I figure since your existence hasn’t upset the balance for the entirety of your life, if I put you back together, get you cleaned up, back into decent shape and do something about this." You motioned to his mind. "Perhaps balance will be restored again and I can continue on with my life and my studies. In peace. All you have to do is let me."

    He thought on this longer. All he could vividly remember was his survival on Lotho Minor but the longer he was away from that hell hole, smaller, fainter memories had started coming back. He didn't think anyone had offered him a kindness like this before. Even if it was for your own personal gain, he benefitted greatly as well.

"Alright." He snarled quietly still quite weary of you as you dumped the clay onto the table and started molding it into the shape of legs and hips.

    Once you were satisfied with the basic shape and proportion you instructed him to let go of the energy he was using to keep the scrap under him together. You left for a moment to find a large robe for him. When you returned to your makeshift work station you found him lying on his back, torso touching the clay and staring up at the midday sky. Wispy clouds decorated the bright blue, it was hard on his eyes now accustomed to darkness so he was squinting against it. You frowned at his wince and force pulled an umbrella that sat on your porch over to you, setting it up so it shielded the light but not the view. He looked at you in bewilderment at this small unnecessary kindness to him. You placed the robe down on the stump to your side silently and held your hands one above his body and the other above the clay.

You looked to him for a final approval, "this is probably gonna hurt just so you know." You warned.

He dug his claws into the wood table bracing himself and gave you a final nod.

    He wasn't prepared for what came next. You had closed your eyes and placed one of your hands on his chest, the other on the clay. Your cool touch cut through him like a knife and his hearts started racing. He couldn't remember ever being touched in a way that didn’t draw blood. His hearts pounded against your hand. You moved your hand down, tracing his body lightly until he no longer felt your touch. He fell into the bliss of contact when your hands left the clay and returned to his body. You were running your hands across his body, down to the clay and back up again, envisioning him whole. Urging the force to make him one again. You projected feeling of calm, peace and gentleness through the force unto him as you worked.

    His chest vibrated against his will, creating a purr that rumbled quietly every time you traced him but the purr turned to a growl that turned into screaming as his body seared. It felt like a fire burned violently where he had been severed and the flames licked at the rest of his skin. He left deep rivets in the wood beneath him in an attempt to hold still despite his instincts to run, he endured. As suddenly as the pain came, it left. He felt a breeze on his feet. He opened his eyes to find your back turned to him while holding out the grey robe. He didn't realize why you were turned away until he looked down. It wasn't a hallucination, he had feet, he had two legs that bore the same markings that he suddenly remembered he had. He was once again intact, including to his almost surprise he had his manhood back. He took the robe and quickly covered himself suddenly hyperaware that he lay naked in front of a woman.

"Are you decent?" You asked. You had averted your gaze so he could retain some semblance of dignity.

 "I am covered." Still distracted by the fact that it actually worked.

"Good." You replied turning around and studying your handiwork. His legs looked good; the tattoos lined up from what you could tell, lifting the robe slightly at his hips, keeping his groin covered. They were the same size same length and he wasn't in agony so the insides must be alright.

    You gripped his thighs which caused him to sit up quickly snarling at you. Without letting go, your eyes inches from his you practically whispered "I have to feel them to make sure your bone structure and joints are all in the right places. Let me know if you can't feel my touch at some point or if my touch hurts."

    His top lip curled in reluctance but he nodded. You firmly yet gently massaged his thighs moving up to his hips and down to his knees. You lifted each knee slightly making sure they bent the right way then continuing down his calves to his ankles. They rolled as they should. You spent a few minutes on each foot making sure all those little pieces were screwed in right so to speak. It took everything in his being to keep his eyes open.

"Could you feel me the whole time?"

"Yes." He whimpered slightly.

"Good. Now try to wiggle your toes. Yes, good just like that. Now bend your knees for me; wonderful. Lift your legs a little one at a time. Just try to get your heels a few inches off the table. Perfect. Can you spread and close your legs for me? Just a bit so I know those joints work well too. Magnificent." He grunted with effort but passed all your little tests.

You clapped your hands together. "Good! Wow, I've only ever done single limbs on wounded animals before, this was a job." His eyes widened in horror.

"You didn't know if this was going to work?!"

"Nope! First time for everything but hey it was a success so don't get yourself all worked up." Your hands were on your hips. "Now they won't be able to bear your full weight for a while so take it easy, I'll help you around but now..." you pulled out a large wood file. "I'm gonna take care of those claws and those horns. They are truly atrocious."

    The next three hours you spent carefully shaping his horns to a much more manageable length and rounding them just enough so they wouldn't slice on contact. His claws on the other hand now resembled human finger nails. He sat on the stump while you fussed over him while he ate a whole serving bowl of various fruits from your garden and dried meats. Every time you touched the base of one of his horns his eyes twitched in bliss and rolled to the back of his head.

     When you finished you set the file down and once again studied your craftsmanship. His face flushed with your eyes and mouth so close to him again, starting to realize now that his body was in one piece he had hormones to regulate. Satisfied with what you had done you handed him a makeshift crutch and wrapped your arm around his waist and his free arm over your shoulder.

    For the first time, you led him into your home slowly. He couldn't believe how good grass then carpet felt under his feet and he actually smiled. You made your way to the refresher where a large bath sat prefilled with hot water. You dropped a large sandalwood scented bath bomb into the waters. He watched mesmerized as it fizzled and placed a hand in the water out of curiosity. After verifying that the temperature was good you closed your eyes and helped him slide into the tub only opening when you could sense that he was submerged up to his chest.

“These wonderful little bath bombs have salts and oils that will help heal your smaller cuts and scrapes on the rest of your body as well as clean you.”

    You watched his eyes roll to the back of head and close, a low groan escaping his lips as he enjoyed the water and rubbed his legs together. You smiled at him; it truly did bring you joy to help this poor lost soul. Although he was still rather gaunt and his eyes still blown out with possible insanity, he had quite handsome features. You shook your head to drive the thought away from your mind and without a word you left the room, leaving him to soak in the steamy waters, not before calling over your shoulder, “I will be back with some clean clothes for you soon. Shout if you need anything.”

 ~~~~~

      The water on his skin was glorious. The heat on his body, the smell of the sandalwood and the steam he breathed overloaded his senses and put him in a state of euphoria. He reached up and felt his freshly groomed horns, enjoying the fact that he could touch them without cutting himself. He felt tears welling up in his eyes that he wouldn’t let fall at the thought of everything this woman had done to him, for him today. He had completely forgotten the fear he felt just this morning when he saw her for the first time. Her figure against the grasslands, strong and filled with a purposeful resolve that was also soothing. Eyes simply electric. Her hair, wild with the breeze. He felt something flutter in his stomach and he put the image of her out of his mind to stave it off.

    What did he do to deserve such kindness, such a sweet saving grace in his bleak existence? Nothing he was sure. As he relaxed, more of his memories came back to him as if he never forgot them. His fists clenched as he remembered how he got to this sorry state to begin with and a name rumbled out of his chapped lips almost silently. "Kenobi."

    Before he could fall into his rage, he heard a tapping on the door just before his savior reentered carrying black pants and a black tunic. A sweet and spicy smell wafted into the room and his mouth watered.

"I got a weird feeling when I passed these in the market on one of the populated planets I frequent on my last run so I bought them. Now I know why I got that feeling." His hearts pounded in his chest as she kneeled on the floor behind his head after setting them down on the counter. Using a glass, she scooped up water from the bath and ran it over the top of his head, following with massaging soap and scented oils into his scalp and around the base of his horns. Loosing himself completely he let out a moan. He couldn't see it but she smiled again behind him with a single raised brow.

 ~~~~~

      Once you had rinsed him off you closed your eyes once again and helped him out, allowing him to dry himself and dress while using you as a support until he gave you the all clear that you could open them again. Weary of his shaky legs you led him down a hallway, passing a few doors and back into the great room where a single couch sat facing an array of well stocked bookshelves. The only electronic in sight was a single radio on one of the shelves quietly playing lo-fi. A small table and chairs sat just beyond the couch in view of both the kitchen and the front door.

    After helping him take a seat you dished the two of you large bowls of the meat stew and a pitcher of water for the table. He ate and drank the broth down to the last drop before you had halfway finished. Getting up to serve him a second helping he stuttered "you don’t.. have to do that."

"Please." You retorted casually. "I will be stuffing you full until you're well again. You may have your legs back but you’re underweight for your species and size. You’ll need lots of calories to back to ‘fighting weight’." He ate much more slowly this time until he gathered the courage to speak again.

"I never asked you your name. I think... no, I know. I am called Maul." His eyes never left you as he waited for your reply.

"Well my name is Y/N. I am glad your ship landed here Maul."

"I am very thankful for that as well.. um.. Thank you. For everything."

    The two of you finished your meal in a comfortable silence. Humming occasionally at the savory and rich stew. He had asked to retire after dinner so you aided him to your spare bedroom. It was small only having a single sized bed, a night stand and yet another bookshelf properly filled with writings that he could reach from the bed if he wanted to. After rummaging around some drawers, you found a pair of com links and asked him to use it should he need anything to which he agreed. You placed a hand on his forehead absent mindedly, wishing him a good night before sauntering off. Sleep came slowly to the Zabrack, staring out the window to the field. He could just barely see the goats and a few chickens in the yard but it was you who filled his mental images before sleep finally took him long after the sun had set.

[littlelovelyspiderling]

Mending

ever wondered what happens when you have too many ideas and want to do them all immediately so you cram them into one story even though it doesn’t make any sense?? this. this is what happens

What if Zuko was the one struck by Azula's attack in The Chase? And what if instead of fire, it was lightning? An exploration of what would have occurred between Zuko, Iroh, and the Gaang in that scenario. Hint -- the Gaang has a LOT of fun messing with him.

word count: 29,650

_____________________________________

It happened so fast. Unbelievably fast. 

One second, Azula was standing in front of them, trapped and outnumbered, raising her hands in defeat. They’d beaten her; they’d won. It should’ve been over. Then, with a single sweep of her arm, a bolt of lightning shot from her fingertips, zipping toward Iroh too quickly, too close range for him to react in time to redirect it. 

She had been aiming at him. It should’ve been him getting hit, him doubling over, him collapsing lifelessly to the ground. So why was his nephew suddenly flying in front of him? Why did the lightning strike him instead? How could he have predicted what was about to happen, let alone moved in time to take the blow? 

Why did the world dip into slow motion as the electricity coursed through his body? Flashing, cracking, sizzling—coiling like neon blue snakes? Why couldn’t he move as he watched Zuko fall? Why didn’t he reach out and catch him? Why did his screams sound distant even though he was right there, convulsing at his feet?  

Why did the stench of burning flesh have to smell so familiar?

“Zuko!”

The avatar and his gang threw everything they had at the princess. But in a flash of blue flame, heat and smoke exploded across the battlefield. When the air cleared, she was gone. Zuko lied where he’d fallen, motionless and silent. 

Iroh dropped to his knees. “No—Zuko—no.” A large hole was seared through the fabric on the upper left side of his chest. The skin that was visible was red and raw. His eyes were closed and his muscles were slack. He looked asleep—peaceful, even. 

It was too similar. Too real. His last day in Ba Sing Se roared back to the present with a ferocious vengeance. With trembling hands, Iroh cradled the boy’s head. 

“Nephew...can you hear me? Zuko…please...”

Once they’d determined the threat was gone, the group gazed upon the gut-wrenching scene, stunned. A cold knot formed in Aang’s belly. Zuko had been hurt—bad. Zuko was their enemy. They’d been fighting each other not even thirty seconds ago. But the old general he called his uncle had always seemed strangely neutral. He’d never actively fought against any of them. Back in the Northern Water Tribe, he’d helped them save the moon spirit—and in turn, the entire world. 

However evil Zuko was, Aang didn’t want him to die. The old man clearly cared about him. And the sound of his sobs…

He looked to Katara. The war raging in her soul gleamed in the whites of her eyes. She caught his gaze, grimacing bitterly, her hands balled into fists at her sides.

“Katara,” Toph said, the weight of the situation heavy in her voice. The others held their breath, glancing between Zuko and the waterbender. Slowly, the anger drained from her expression. 

She stepped toward the old man, extending her hand. “I—I can help,” she said. “I can heal him, if you’ll let me.”

“Katara!” Sokka protested. She ignored him. Iroh looked at her over his shoulder, eyes red and pleading. 

That was all the confirmation she needed. Katara rushed to Zuko’s other side, kneeling opposite of Iroh. She streamed a line of water from her pouch and cloaked it around her hands.

“What are you doing?” Sokka snapped. “He’s our enemy!”

“He’s hurt,” Katara retorted coldly. “He needs my help.”

“I d-don’t think he’s breathing,” Iroh stammered, clutching the teenager like he’d disintegrate if he let him go. “Is he—is his heart—I c-can’t tell if he’s—”

“He’s breathing,” Toph assured him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “I can feel it. His heart’s beating, too.” She closed her eyes. “But...they’re both very weak.”

It tore her up, feeling Iroh shiver against the ground, hearing his voice quake with fear. She’d only spoken to him once, but in their short conversation, he’d proved himself to be a wise, kind person who would do anything for his troubled nephew. They couldn’t let him die, if only for Iroh’s sake.

Katara held her hands over the injury, the water following its path through his body. The damage was deep and gruesome. Streams of burnt flesh fanned out from the entry wound across the majority of his torso, snaked down his left leg, then re-concentrated at the bottom of his foot, where the lightning must have exited. 

“This is bad,” she admitted, her gaze shifting to Zuko’s face. He’d never looked so fragile to her before—so small. His weird bald ponytail look was gone; he’d chopped it off and let his hair start growing out. It was short, fuzzy, and—dare she say—cute, comparatively. It also aged him down, making him look less like a scary Fire Nation soldier and more like a teenager. 

“It’s going to take me awhile. We should find somewhere safe to move him.”

Iroh sniffled and wiped his eyes, holding Zuko’s head in his lap and running a hand through his hair. “Okay,” he said. “Yes, let’s—yes. Okay.”

It took him a minute to stand. He kept his palm cupped under Zuko’s head, never letting it touch the ground. Once he was on his feet, Katara and Aang helped lift his nephew into his arms. 

“Thank you,” the old man whimpered. “Thank you all s-so much...” Tears flowed freely from his eyes as he held Zuko close to his chest. Aang offered him a small smile. 

“Let’s head back toward the river,” Katara said, returning the water to her pouch. “Appa should be waiting for us there. We can set up camp in the surrounding forest.” 

As she walked past Sokka, he gave her a what is wrong with you look. She shot back with a glare of her own, which shut him up for the time being. 

That lasted about two minutes. As Katara led the way, Sokka jogged to catch up with her, keeping his voice low.

“You do realize how crazy this is, don’t you?”

Katara narrowed her eyes but didn’t respond.

“We’re helping Zuko. You know, royal Fire Nation psycho freak? Ozai’s devil spawn? The guy who's been chasing us around and terrorizing us since we first met Aang? The dude who wants nothing more than to kill us all and drag our friend back to the Fire Nation like a prized turkey pig?”

“You think I want to help him?” Katara snapped, holding her shoulders tight as she walked. “He’ll die if I don’t heal him. Are you saying we should just let him die?”

Sokka swallowed and stared at his feet. “I...no. I don’t know. I just...don’t see any version of this ending well.”

“I know it’s weird,” Aang concurred, glancing back at Iroh nervously. “But...we have to help him. It’s the right thing to do.”

“What if one of us got shot full of lightning?” Sokka retorted. “You think Prince Jerkbender would do anything to help us? Of course not. He would exploit the situation to try to capture Aang.”

“His uncle would help,” Toph said.

Aang smiled solemnly. “Exactly. Don’t think of it as helping Zuko. Think of it as helping Iroh not be sad.” He blinked, his eyes darkening. “He seems...really scared and shaken.”

“It boggles my mind that he cares about him so much. That old man’s kindness is completely wasted on a selfish moron like Zuko.” 

Iroh moaned suddenly, causing the group to freeze in place and turn around. The Fire Nation general was trailing far behind them, flushed and sweaty. His knees were wobbling under the burden of Zuko’s weight.

“I’m so sorry,” he grated out. “S’my old joints. Please...could someone…”

Slowly, all eyes swiveled to Sokka. It took him a moment to notice the sudden onslaught of attention. He glanced between his friends, spluttering.

“What?” he exclaimed. “Why me?”

Aang shrugged. “Out of all of us, you’re probably the strongest.”

“But I don’t want to carry the angry jerk!” he whined, stamping his feet.

Katara placed her hands on her hips. “You don’t want to, or you’re not strong enough to?” she retorted smugly. 

Sokka knew she was baiting him, but with a huff, he decided to bite. All of them were exhausted; Azula and her tank of dangerous ladies had made sure of that. The sooner they got to camp, the sooner they could rest. 

“Fine,” he grumbled. He marched back toward Iroh, griping sourly under his breath. “Here—gimme.”

Sokka knelt down and let Iroh drape Zuko over his back. Sokka wrapped his arms under his knees and hoisted his weight forward, bundling the unconscious prince into the world’s most unhappy piggyback ride. 

Once he was secure, Sokka rose upright and stomped after Katara, face gnarled with irritation. “Happy now?” he said. “If he wakes up and roasts me alive, I’m blaming you.”

“Please be careful with him,” Iroh said nervously, tailing Sokka with his hands out like he was going to drop his nephew at any moment.

Sokka rolled his eyes but held Zuko a little tighter. “Yeah, yeah,” he murmured.

Ten minutes later, they reached the river. Appa was snoring peacefully beneath a tree with Momo nestled in his fur. The sun poked above the horizon line, casting blood red beams across the water.

As Aang gathered their blankets and sleeping bags from Appa’s saddle, Katara yawned and pointed at an alcove between two evergreens. “Toph, could you make us an earth tent? One big enough for all of us to fit.”

Toph jabbed her fists out then up, forming a large, triangle-shaped structure. The gang staggered inside, blinking and rubbing their sleepy eyes, with Iroh close behind.

“Lay him down here,” Katara instructed. Aang spread their spare blanket across the ground while Sokka unraveled himself from the lifeless firebender. 

“You know, you’re a lot heavier than you look, your highness,” Sokka scoffed. “Might want to lay off the fire gummies. And your obsessive rage-fueled quest of evil against me and my friends.”

Iroh hurried to Sokka’s aid. The two of them worked together to gently guide Zuko to the ground. Aang tucked Sokka’s Water Tribe jacket under his head as a pillow. 

“But that’s…!” Sokka began, then sunk in defeat. “Oh, whatever.”

“He looks so still,” Iroh breathed. He petted Zuko’s hair and ran his thumb along his cheek, tears glistening in his eyes. “Oh, nephew. How could I let this happen…?”

Again?

Katara re-soaked her hands in water and sat on Zuko’s left. “I’ll help him as much as I can,” she said, expression steely. She stifled another yawn, then got to work. 

The moon was high in the sky by the time she was done. The wound was still bad, but edging away from life-threatening. Her friends had fallen asleep long ago; she and Iroh were the only one’s left awake. She would’ve kept going, but at this point, she could barely keep her eyes open.

“He’ll need a few more sessions to heal properly,” she said, streaming the water back into her pouch and rising to her feet, “and a lot of rest. I’ll start again in the morning.”

“Thank you, young lady,” Iroh said, bowing his head. “I owe you and your friends an insurmountable debt. I know how you all must feel about my nephew, but…” He swallowed, voice wavering. “He—he’s very important to me. I know he is capable of great good, he’s just...been through a lot.” 

Katara wasn’t sure how to respond. She didn’t want to entertain the possibility that Zuko was or ever could be an actual human being with feelings—not after all the pain and trouble he’d put them through. Regardless of how his uncle saw him, he was still their enemy: a Fire Nation scumbag determined to capture their friend and rid the world of its last emblem of hope. Healing him was a reflection of her own kindness, and a courtesy to Iroh; it had nothing to do with Zuko himself. Having the capacity for good wasn’t enough; he’d never acted on it, which rendered it meaningless.

Katara glared at the ground. “If he wakes up…” she began.

“He will be no trouble to you,” Iroh assured her. “You have my word.”

She trusted him, though she wasn’t sure why. He was just as much Fire Nation as Zuko, but his aura and levelness reminded her of her father. Someone inclined to protect the wellbeing of others, and who never broke their promises. Still, she wasn’t letting her guard down.

She eyed the large red splotch on Zuko’s chest. “Even if I can fully heal him, he’ll probably still be left with a scar.”

Iroh blanched, but kept his expression stony. “I see,” he said. His somber gaze shifted to his nephew’s face. “That is okay. He can handle it.” His fingers carded through Zuko’s hair, lingering around his left eye. “It won’t be his first time being scarred by a family member.”

Something cold coiled around Katara’s heart. Her eyes flickered toward the dark, leathery burn marring half of the prince’s face before quickly jerking away. Someone in his family did that to him? She’d never thought much about Zuko’s scar—just that it marked him as an individual, distinguished him as their enemy, and made him all the more scary-looking for it. She hadn’t really considered how he’d gotten it, or what significance that might carry. 

Her curiosity was officially piqued, but she knew better than to ask. She turned away indignantly. What does it matter, anyway? A bad home life doesn’t warrant a lifetime of evil. 

No amount of sob stories would ever make Zuko deserving of her sympathy.

“Goodnight,” she said, curling up beside her friends.

“Goodnight,” he replied. He scooted behind Zuko and lifted his head into his lap, periodically checking his pulse as he petted his hair. It didn’t look like he was planning to go to sleep anytime soon. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The world that Zuko woke to was bright and painful. A beam of sunlight was shining directly into his eyes, making him squint and blink. He tried to shift to escape the harsh glow, but he couldn’t seem to move.

Maybe it had something to do with the bone-deep agony radiating through his entire body.

It started underneath his left shoulder and pulsed out from there, feverish and nauseating. His foot surged with a similar ache, but to a less heated degree. Every feeble attempt to move made it a hundred times worse. Even breathing was excruciating. 

Ugh, he thought, gritting his teeth. His mind was hazy; his skull felt like it was full of stones. Wha…?

He blinked, and a blinding blue flash exploded behind his eyelids. He jolted as the memory returned, his hand flying to his shoulder.

Azula. Outnumbered. Defeated. But...she attacked. Uncle. Had to protect him. Jumped between them. Then…

A cataclysmic thrum of unimaginable pain. After that, everything had clapped to darkness.

Grimacing, Zuko slid one hand underneath his body and pushed against the ground. The effort left him dizzy and gasping, but he managed to lift himself off the floor and into a sitting position, his bare back resting against the stone wall behind him. He sat that way for a while, panting and moaning, gripping his chest where the pain throbbed like a second heartbeat. 

Azula had done this to him. Figured. Had she captured the avatar and dragged him home to Father while he was out, taking away his only chance of ever redeeming his honor? 

He looked down at his shoulder, lifting his hand away from the skin. A large, red scar lied underneath, blistered and swollen and still relatively fresh. The splotchy, scarlet circle was the only visible evidence left by Azula’s attack, although he could feel its harrowing effect in every muscle of his body. It looked slightly different than the mark on his face—felt different, too. But not different enough. 

Another burn. Another scar. At least this one he could hide.

But man, did it hurt.

He tore his gaze away from the wound and scanned his surroundings, blinking the sleepy sheen from his eyes. He was in some kind of tall, tent-like structure made of earth. The ground around him was littered with blankets, bags, and other miscellaneous items. Not Uncle’s belongings, he realized. Zuko’s throat tightened. 

He’d have to worry about dealing with Azula later. For now…

Where in the world am I?

Voices reached his ears, making him perk up in alarm. Someone calling from afar, followed by a cheerful laugh.

“Hold on—let me grab my staff!”

Footsteps approached, quick but light. A few moments later, a figure jogged into the tent, silhouetted by sunshine. Zuko squinted against the harsh brightness, his eyes still bleary with exhaustion. 

The individual moved out of the doorway to rummage through a bag on the floor. Only when he stood upright, glider in hand, backlit by the sun but no longer blown out, did his bald head, blue tattoos, and chipper smile become distinguishable.

No way.

“Found it!” the avatar cried. Then his gaze fell upon the injured firebender, who was now sitting upright and visibly conscious, and his eyes bugged out of his skull.

“Ah!” he gasped, flinching back and dropping his staff. Before Zuko had time to react, let alone process what was going on, Aang darted out of the tent, shouting: “He’s awake! Guys! Zuko’s awake!”

Zuko blinked. And suddenly, four people were looming over him, their outlines and features fuzzy-looking. Time seemed to be flying by at double the speed while he was trapped in slow motion. His brain felt like a mushy bowl of jook. Fortunately, he managed to identify the individuals surrounding him.

Unfortunately, they were the last four people he wanted to see right now. 

“What the—?” he exclaimed, panic blooming in his chest. He tried to sit up a little straighter, but the movement made his chest flare with pain. He clutched it with a groan, slumping limply against the wall. 

“Don’t move,” the small earthbending girl said. “You’re hurt really bad.”

Zuko forced his eyes open, leering between the avatar and his gang, sweating bullets and shivering all over. Why was he shivering so much? Why couldn’t he make it stop? He didn’t just feel hurt; he felt sick. The wound was hot and sticky against his palm.

“W-what are you doing here?” he growled. 

“Saving you, that’s what,” Aang retorted. The Water Tribe boy—Sokka, if his memory served—stood beside him, holding his boomerang at the ready. 

“Azula attacked you,” he explained. “She shot you full of lightning. You’d be dead if Katara hadn’t helped you.”

Zuko’s stomach turned icy. His eyes wandered to the waterbender, who frowned at him with her hand hovering over her pouch. All of them looked ready to kill him the second he made the wrong move. 

Meanwhile, he felt ready to puke. 

Why would they save me? That meant they needed him for something. Information? Intel on the Fire Nation? A ransom hostage? Fat chance he’d be helpful on any of those accounts. They could turn him over to his father, maybe—he was a fugitive of the Fire Nation. Then again, so were they. 

Or they were lying about saving him. Maybe they’d kidnapped him after Azula’s attack just so they got to watch him suffer a slow, grisly death. Maybe this was building toward some elaborate form of payback for all the times he’d tried to capture the avatar. His injury wasn’t even bandaged—no medicine in sight, either. What exactly had they done to help him?

“I’ll go get Iroh,” Aang said, jogging out of the tent. Zuko’s fear-fueled fantasies veered into confusion.

What? Uncle’s here? Why? Was he hurt, too? Had the avatar and his friends captured them both? What was going on? 

“His fever’s gotten worse,” the earthbender said. It took Zuko a second to realize she was talking about him, and a second longer to realize she had somehow come to this conclusion without even touching him. It made no sense. None of this did. It felt like he was trapped inside some crazy, lucid nightmare.

Katara studied him for a while, her eyes dark and searching. Then she sighed, coating her hands in water. She walked toward him suddenly, making Zuko tense.

“Stay back!” he shouted, gritting his teeth to keep them from chattering. He kept one palm glued to his wound while the other stayed flat against the ground to prevent him from toppling over.

To his disbelief, the waterbender ignored him, sitting by his side with a level expression. Katara stared at Zuko coldly. She’d never realized how golden his irises were. She’d never been this close to see—not while he was awake. When they caught the sunlight, they glinted and shimmered in an almost supernatural way. The eyes of a hunter. 

Zuko glared back with his usual scowl. Brows furrowed, teeth bared. He’d always reminded her of a predator. Something wild and ferocious that prowled after the innocent. But today, something was different. Today, Zuko was the prey: trembling, injured, trapped, and scared. His typically scalding gaze was clouded with fear.

Katara held up her hands as she stared him down. The water encasing them glowed a soft blue. “I’m going to help lower your fever,” she stated. “Either you sit still and let me do it, or Toph pins you down and makes you stay still.”

“And if you try firebending, Boomerang is coming for your head,” Sokka added. 

Zuko’s skin bristled with goosebumps as chills shuddered up his spine. After the Agni Kai against his father, he recalled contracting an intense fever in response to the terrible burn. It hadn’t lasted long, but it wasn’t pleasant. Uncle had worked diligently to bring it down and comfort him while the physicians tended to his scorched face. It wasn’t a time he liked to remember, but he wondered if that’s what was happening now—if Azula’s burn was afflicting him just like Father’s had. 

“I don’t w-want your help,” Zuko hissed. He had no idea what she was planning to do to him, and he wasn’t interested in finding out. Whatever the end goal to all of this was, their intentions were clearly hostile.

Katara shared a look with her brother, then wrinkled her brow. Wordlessly, she reached forward, placing her palm against Zuko’s forehead. 

“Hey! What’re you—?” He squirmed away and made a grab for her wrist, but she caught his first, pinning his arm against the wall without moving the hand on his head. He didn’t realize how weak he was until he tried and failed to wriggle free of her hold. The effort it took just to try left him woozy. 

“Just—wait,” she instructed sharply. “It’ll make you feel better. I promise.”

He considered frying her hand to force her to release him, but Sokka was right there, and he knew how much that boomerang could hurt—even with a helmet on. Plus, he was tired, lightheaded, and now that she mentioned it…

He stopped fighting for a moment, panting. The watery glove around her hand felt like it was seeping through his skull and into his brain, sucking all the heat and pain with it. The pulsing ache in his head eased to a small hum. His feverish chills eased away. Slowly, his muscles relaxed. He blinked, stunned by the sudden and extraordinary relief. 

Once she realized he wasn’t trying to escape anymore, she let go of his wrist and pressed both palms to his temples. The assuage increased even more, making Zuko release a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. 

“This should bring your fever down temporarily,” she said. This was not normal waterbending; he knew that much. It was cool, tingly, soothing, almost spiritual in nature. When she took her hands away, he was left feeling exponentially better, though the wound on his shoulder continued to throb. Zuko met her gaze for an instant, pressing a finger to his brow. 

“What...what’d you just do?” he asked. Katara stood and stepped back, her expression sour.

“Reduced your pain, even if you deserve every bit of it.” 

Anger resurfaced in the prince’s chest. Even though he was still reeling with relief, his eyes cut daggers through hers.

“Then why do it?” he remarked. He gripped his injury tighter. “Why am I here? What do you want from me?”

“I’ll see if Iroh has any herbal remedies he could give you for a more permanent solution,” Katara continued, ignoring his abrasive inquiry. “But you’ll need plenty of rest to recover completely.”

“Answer my questions!” Zuko yelled, making Sokka and Toph wince. “Why are you keeping me here? What are you planning?”

The shouting roused his wound, making him fall back against the wall with a strained whimper. At that moment, the avatar skipped back into the tent with Iroh on his tail. Zuko glanced up along with the others. As soon as Uncle’s eyes found his, the old man melted. 

“See? He’s awake! Told you he’d be all right!”

Iroh didn’t wait for him to finish. He rushed toward his nephew, tripping over sleeping bags and pushing past Sokka with his arms outstretched. “Zuko!” he cried.

“Uncle?” the young prince answered, looking puzzled. He yelped in surprise when Iroh practically tackled him, wrapping him into the biggest platypus bear hug any of them had ever seen.

“Oh, my beautiful nephew!” Iroh blubbered, squeezing the air from his lungs. “I’m so happy you’re all right!”

Zuko squirmed uncomfortably, inexperienced in dealing with such blatant physical affection. “Uncle! What’re you—ouch! Quit it! You’re—crushing me!”

A few giggles slipped from Aang and Toph’s lips. It was an amusing scene—watching the grumpy Fire Nation prince get smothered by his overbearing uncle. Even the Water Tribe siblings hinted smug grins. Aang swore he saw a touch of pink flush across the firebender’s cheeks. 

Despite his nephew’s wriggly protests, Iroh clung on to him a little while longer, one hand wrapped around Zuko’s torso while the other cradled the back of his head. Zuko eventually gave up trying to escape and just sat there awkwardly, squished and pouting as he waited for his uncle to get his fill. The gang was relieved to see Iroh happy after so many hours of anxiety. 

Once he finally released Zuko from his hold, Iroh’s attention honed in on his nephew’s wound, his hands hovering around the bright red scar. “How bad does it hurt? Are you in terrible pain?”

More like excruciating, Zuko thought. His muscles felt like burnt noodles, his bones like over-roasted komodo chicken legs. But he didn’t need to tell Iroh that—he was already an erratic pyre of stress as it was. He rolled his eyes and shrugged, trying to evoke nonchalance, realizing his mistake too late. A stabbing ache tore through his shoulder and shot down his arm, making him to wince sharply and hiss through his teeth. He grabbed his chest, groaning wearily.

“Stay still, Prince Zuko,” Iroh said, laying the back of his hand against his cheek. “Your body is very weak, and you’re still warmer than usual. I’ll brew you some ginger root tea to reduce the fever.”

Zuko scrunched up his brow and knocked his hand away. “Stop fussing, Uncle,” he grumbled bitterly. “M’fine.”

“Fine?” Iroh repeated. A beat passed where the old man just stared at him, jaw tight, his lower lip trembling. Then, out of nowhere, Uncle seized Zuko by his uninjured shoulder, his eyes flashing with an uncharacteristic rage. “Are you insane? You call this ‘fine?’ What on earth were you thinking?”

Zuko blinked, looking just as surprised as everyone else in the room. He was still recovering from Iroh’s crushing embrace, followed by the sudden burst of pain. Now he was yelling at him? 

“What?” Zuko said, startled.

“Why would you throw yourself in between me and Azula like that?” he shouted. “That lightning should have hit me, not you!”

It wasn’t like Uncle to shout. Uncle only shouted when it was for a very specific and important purpose. He wasn’t like the Fire Lord—or Zuko, for that matter. 

“You’d rather I just sat there and let you take the hit?” Zuko scoffed in disbelief. “Azula was trying to kill you!”

“And she very nearly killed you!” Iroh retorted, making Zuko shrink back a little. “If it wasn’t for the kindness of these children, you’d be dead right now! First in the North Pole, and again today!”

Zuko grimaced and turned away, avoiding everyone’s eyes. “I never asked for their help.”

Iroh gave him a quick shake, making the young prince tense. “You shouldn’t even be needing it! You have to stop putting yourself in danger like this!”

Zuko didn’t understand why he was so angry with him. He huffed toward the ground. “This is exactly why I didn’t want us traveling together anymore. You worry too much.”

“Because you don’t worry enough!” Iroh roared. “You seem perfectly fine with throwing your life away over nothing!”

“I was trying to protect you, Uncle!” Zuko exclaimed, shoving his hand off his shoulder. “Is your life nothing?”

“Yes!” Iroh snarled. He cupped his nephew’s face in his hands, his eyes like fire. “Compared to yours, yes! My life is nothing, Prince Zuko.”

Zuko’s scowl fell, replaced by a look of sickly confusion. The tent plunged into sudden silence. Aang and his friends felt like they were intruding on a very private moment, but now they were too intrigued not to see how this ended.

“Why...would you say that?” Zuko asked uneasily. He pulled Iroh’s hands away from his face. “That’s not—”

“I’ve lived my life, nephew,” Uncle insisted. “If I died today, I’d die a happy, fulfilled old man. But you are just a boy, my prince, whether you choose to acknowledge it or not. You have so much life left to live. If you died…”

Uncle shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, bowing low to ground, as if the thought physically hurt him. Zuko didn’t know what to say. Tears started slipping down Iroh’s cheeks and dripping into the grass.

“Uncle…” Zuko began softly. A moment later, his eyes lurched up to the four others occupying the room and grew wide, as if he’d forgotten they were there. He leered at them with a mixture of loathing and embarrassment, feeling strange and exposed by their prying gazes, until Uncle listed forward, burying his face into his chest. 

“Don’t m-make me endure it again, Zuko,” Iroh wept, hugging the prince with all the love and pain in the universe. “Don’t make me watch another son die...”

Guilt and sorrow surged into Zuko’s throat. He knew Iroh cared for him—knew he liked to pretend that he was his own now that Lu Ten was gone. But to this day, he didn’t understand why. Zuko had done nothing to earn Iroh’s love; he actively pushed him away and treated him like garbage just to prove it, testing how much it would take to get it to break. But no matter what he tried, Iroh’s love persisted: unbending and unconditional. It was perplexing, illogical, infuriating—and wonderful.

Uncle’s love wasn’t like Ozai’s. Uncle’s love wasn’t something he had to beg and fight and compete for. It was just...there. Always. And he had no idea how to deal with it.

As Iroh cried into his shoulder, Zuko placed an awkward hand on his arm in attempt to calm him, wincing at the anguish in his sobs. “I wasn’t—I didn’t—” he stammered, grappling for the words to make him stop.

“It would’ve killed me, Zuko,” Iroh wept, holding him close. “If you d-died saving me, I would have died anyway. I couldn’t bear it. Not again…”

Zuko watched his Uncle sniffle and shake, a lump forming in his throat. He didn’t understand it. He doubted he ever would. He swallowed thickly and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. He cursed the wobble that snuck into his voice. 

“I think we should go,” Toph whispered, jerking her thumb toward the exit. The group nodded in agreement. None of them had ever seen Zuko so vulnerable before—physically, emotionally, or otherwise. He obviously reciprocated Iroh’s love, even if he wasn’t as good at expressing it as him. It was obnoxiously heartwarming.

“No,” Iroh said, sitting up suddenly, running the heels of his hands under his puffy eyes. “No, please stay.” He turned to Zuko, placing a palm against his back. “My nephew has something he’d like to say to you.”

Zuko’s soft expression twisted into a look of disgust. “What?”

“These people saved your life on two different occasions, Prince Zuko—despite all the trouble we’ve caused them. The least you can do is thank them for their generosity.”

The firebender’s golden gaze bore ferociously into his uncle’s, then swept across the four kids standing around them. His signature scowl returned with a vengeance. 

“There’s a reason besides generosity that they did it,” Zuko hissed, flinching and grabbing his wounded shoulder. “I just haven’t figured out what it is yet.”

Katara placed her hands on her hips. “We did it because we’re not monsters,” she shot back. “And because your uncle cares about you. Why, I have no idea—but we didn’t want him to lose his nephew.”

Zuko lunged toward her with a growl, but Iroh held him back, which did not take much effort. 

“Enough, Zuko,” he scolded him. “The reason they helped you does not matter. The fact is, they helped you. And that alone warrants your gratitude.”

The injured prince glowered at them, gritting his teeth. Iroh was kidding himself if he thought he was going to get a ‘thank you’ to cross his insufferable nephew’s lips.

“Trust me, Prince Zuko—it is far more honorable to thank your rival for sparing your life than to hold your tongue out of senseless pride.” He placed a hand on his head and ruffled his hair. “Go on.”

Zuko ducked out of his reach and scratched his scalp irritably. The group waited for him to blow up, to spit fire and fury and tell all of them to go jump in the river. His glare alone could sear clean through stone.

But to everyone’s disbelief, the flames in his eyes were gradually superseded by something else. A lifetime of exhaustion, misery, and defeat. His golden irises suddenly looked dull; his expression grew heavy with sadness. He grimaced at the wall, still trembling a little from his fever.

“This doesn’t change anything,” he spat, squeezing his eyes shut. “But...thank you.”

A moment later, Zuko did a quick motion, placing the heel of his left palm on top of his right fist and dipping his head toward the ground. If someone blinked, they would’ve missed it—but the gang recognized the rapid gesture as a Fire Nation bow, done as a sign of respect and humility. It was fast and awkward, but it was genuine. Then Zuko turned his back to them, frowning at the corner of the tent, hunching his shoulders and kneading his wound with his thumb.

Katara, Sokka, and Toph walked outside, but Aang stayed behind, smiling wide. Even though he wasn’t looking, Aang repeated the movement back to Zuko. Iroh beamed at him delightedly, then patted his nephew’s arm.

“Get some rest, Prince Zuko. I’ll be back soon with the tea and some soup.”

Zuko didn’t acknowledge him as he got up and left with the others. He just stared at the wall, feeling small, broken, and weak. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

While Iroh prepared the meal, the avatar and his crew sat around the fire in a misshapen semi-circle, each occupied with their own projects. Aang polished his staff, Sokka sharpened his boomerang, Katara sewed a tear in her dress, and Toph played with Momo, making little pegs of earth pop up from the ground for him to chase. 

The silence was suffocating. 

Sokka kept shooting looks at his friends, as if to say is no one going to acknowledge how strange this is? They had two Fire Nation royalty with them, one of which was making them dinner, while the other (who had tried to kill them on many, many occasions) was sleeping hardly twenty feet away. When he couldn’t bear it any longer, he cleared his throat, painting an awkward grin on his face. 

“So...uh...Iroh. General Iroh? Or—Prince Iroh? Or—?”

The old man chuckled. “Just Iroh is fine.” He swirled a ladle through the steaming broth. The aroma was thick and spicy. “Would anyone care for some ginseng soup?”

Everyone raised their hand, bringing a smile to his face. He filled four bowls to the brim and handed one to each of the kids. Once the group had been served, Iroh sat among them, sipping his own meal while monitoring the tea.

“Wow, this is great!” Sokka said, slurping noisily. He wiped his mouth and eyed the old man with a frown. “Not to be rude or anything, but...you seem like a pretty okay guy. Why do you waste your time trying to help your evil nephew?”

“Sokka!” Katara rebuked him, making him wince.

“What? It’s a valid question! He’s so polite and nice, even if he is Fire Nation. Zuko, on the other hand...”

Iroh rested his bowl in his lap, watching the soup wobble and glint in the sunlight. He sighed softly. “I know you all dislike my nephew. And after everything he’s done, you have every right to. He is a conflicted person who has made many mistakes.” He lifted his gaze. “But I’ve known Zuko since the day he was born, and I know the goodness that lies within him.”

Katara huffed dubiously, sipping her dinner in short bouts. Sokka frowned behind his soup mustache. Meanwhile, Aang and Toph listened curiously, spooning heaps of broth into their bellies. Momo leaned over Aang’s shoulder and lapped up a few mouthfuls from his bowl. 

“I was on a path not dissimilar from his for most of my life. Obsessed with honor and power, as well as my place in the Fire Nation. It took immense pain and suffering for me to realize the error of my ways and to start on a new journey. One focused on restoring balance to the world and protecting peace.”

His words struck Katara like an arrow through the heart. “Your son?” she said hesitantly, remembering his words from before. Iroh closed his eyes and nodded his head. 

“Yes. Lu Ten.”

“But how is helping Zuko capture Aang protecting peace?” Sokka asked bluntly. “You’d be destroying it.”

Iroh chuckled. “I haven’t exactly been helpful in my nephew’s pursuit of the avatar. That has never been my goal. I travel with him because I’m all he has left.” He lowered his gaze. “Now that he and I have been declared fugitives of the Fire Nation, I suppose he’s all I have, too.”

Aang gawked. “Fugitives? You mean the Fire Nation considers Zuko a criminal?”

He recalled that it had been Zuko who busted him out of the Fire Nation prison Zhao had locked him up in. Zuko, wielding dual swords and wearing a blue mask, had helped him escape. To this day, he never understood why he’d risked his life to free him. Was it really all because he wanted to capture the avatar himself? 

Had the Fire Nation found out what he did that night, and branded him a traitor? 

“Zuko was banished from the Fire Nation when he was thirteen, and has been living in exile ever since. But only recently has the Fire Lord labeled him fugitive.” Iroh stroked his beard. “Why, I’m not entirely sure—though I have my suspicions.”

Katara and Sokka exchanged a startled glance. Zuko was banished from his own country? At thirteen?

“Why was he banished in the first place?” Toph asked, voicing the question in everyone’s mind.

Iroh finished off his soup and placed his bowl to the side, his eyes dark. He knew Zuko wouldn’t approve of him sharing his life story with his so-called enemies. But perhaps if they knew how he ended up in the place he was today, they could begin to understand the why, and maybe even aid him on his journey to see the light. Iroh heaved a lofty sigh.

“It is my fault, I am afraid. I let him attend a war meeting even though I knew the risks. It is one of my greatest regrets.” He bowed his head. “The Fire Nation is very strict about knowing one’s place and staying quiet in certain social situations. When I granted him permission to join us, I warned him not to speak. But when one of the generals suggested we use a group of new recruits as bait for our next attack against the Earth Kingdom, that we send a bunch of kids into what would very likely wind up a suicide mission—Zuko denounced him in front of the highest ranking war authorities in the Fire Nation.”

His nephew’s words echoed hollowly in his skull. You can’t sacrifice an entire battalion like that! Those soldiers love and defend our nation. How could you betray them?

The four friends stared at him in tense silence. Iroh poured himself a cup of tea as the fire cracked and fizzled. 

“Zuko was right, of course. But his actions were considered extraordinarily disrespectful. He was forced to fight an Agni Kai—a fire duel—in front of the entire royal court. He thought it would be against the elderly general he’d interrupted. Instead, when he turned around, he found himself standing face-to-face with Ozai, his father.”

The icy claw from before seized Katara’s heart with a newfound frigidness. She had a feeling she already knew where this was leading, but the thought still chilled her to her core. 

“His dad...wanted to fight him?” Sokka inquired. “Or he was forced to?” 

“Ozai is the Fire Lord—the supreme leader of the country. He could have easily pardoned Zuko and moved on. My brother chose to fight his own thirteen-year-old son willingly and zealously.” Iroh grimaced. “Ozai has detested Zuko since he was a child, always favoring his sister Azula above him. He’s been searching for a way to revoke Zuko’s birthright to the throne since Azula began to overshadow him in firebending prowess. Speaking out in a war meeting granted him the perfect excuse to do just that.”

The air was still. Toph suddenly felt guilty for once believing her parents were the worst the universe could bestow. Momo trilled and pawed at Aang’s ear. The avatar leaned toward Iroh anxiously. 

“What happened next?”

The old man sipped his steaming cup, his expression sad and distant. “I thought by this point, the whole world knew what happened that day. Fire Nation parents tell the story to their children to scare them into obedience and allegiance to their country.” 

None of the kids spoke up. They just stared at him, wide-eyed. So Iroh continued. 

“Zuko threw himself to the ground, begging for his father’s forgiveness. Ozai commanded him to fight, but he refused to attack his own father.” 

The cup was suddenly trembling in his hands. His knuckles were stiff and white. “I...I should have stopped him. I should have protected Zuko. He was just a child, you know? And he was so afraid...”

Iroh gazed at the grass between his feet. Tiny flowers shuddered and danced in the breeze. 

“Ozai...did not show him mercy,” he said, voice ominous. “After the duel, Zuko’s refusal to fight was pronounced weak and disgraceful—behaviors unfit for a prince of the Fire Nation. And so, the Fire Lord banished him. He was tasked with capturing the avatar,” he noted grimly, turning to Aang. “A purposely impossible mission at the time, since you had been missing for over a hundred years with no sign of returning. It was meant to keep Zuko from ever coming back to the Fire Nation. But Ozai claimed that if Zuko found you and brought you to him, he would restore his son’s honor and welcome him home with open arms.” He looked away, face solemn. “And that is what he’s been trying to do ever since.”

Appa grunted from his shady spot by the river. The air between the four friends suddenly felt cold. It was a lot to process. It explained a few of the things many of them had always been confused about when it came to Zuko, but gave rise to multiple entirely new questions they’d never even thought to consider. Katara lifted her hand toward her left eye.

“Is that…” she began reluctantly. “You said a family member gave that to him—the scar on his face.”

Iroh blinked slowly, miserably. “Yes,” he replied. “His father did that to him. He burned his own son while he lay prostrate before him, pleading for mercy.” His eyebrows furrowed together. “Out of all the horrors I’ve witnessed throughout this war, watching my brother scar and banish that boy is among the cruelest. I doubt the memory will ever leave my mind.”

Shocked silence gripped the group. So that was where Zuko’s scar had come from. Not a training misfire, not some careless childhood mistake—but an intentional brand from his father to mark him as an unwanted outsider. A couple more seconds passed before Sokka scoffed, throwing his hands in the air. 

“This is insane! If Ozai really did do all these terrible things to him, then why is he so obsessed with capturing Aang and returning home? If I was Zuko, I’d be relieved to be banished and away from that psycho. The guy’s a total monster!”

Iroh released a slow breath. “It is hard to understand my nephew’s logic from the outside. But please, try to put yourself in his position. He was cast out—renounced and rebuked by his home and his people, those he had been taught to depend on. His own father disowned him. One tiny mistake cost him everything: the crown, his honor, and his family. Now, exiled from his country, where else can he hope to go? The entire world despises the Fire Nation for the atrocities they have committed. As the banished son of the Fire Lord, no nation is safe for Zuko. He believes his only choice is to bring his father the avatar. That only he can restore everything he lost. That if he can complete the mission Ozai bestowed upon him, their relationship will somehow be different. He thinks he is capable of winning the Fire Lord’s love by delivering you to him. It gives him hope.” 

The old man withered. “I don’t have the heart to tell him the truth, to take that hope away. Even if I did, it wouldn’t change his mind. He would continue this poisonous path without me, searching and fighting until he destroyed himself. I’m doing what I can to support him until he discovers the truth on his own.”

Iroh’s anecdote hung over their heads like storm clouds. Katara narrowed her eyes in thought, drumming her fingers against her bowl. 

“What if he never comes to that conclusion?” she said coldly. “How many more people does he have to hurt or villages does he have to burn down for you to decide he isn’t worth it?”

Iroh met her gaze, his jaw tight. She thought he was going to snarl or shout, like he had in the tent with Zuko. Instead, he relaxed into a smile. 

“He will change. I know it. I’ve seen what he’s capable of. He was such a sweet and happy child before my brother got ahold of him and twisted him up.” He grinned at Aang. “He was a lot like you, actually. Bright and joyful and kind. I wish you all could have seen him then. Perhaps you’d understand why I haven’t given up on him yet.”

“Really?” Aang said, beaming. “Wow. I’m having a hard time imagining that.”

The old man chuckled, then stared across the circle of young faces. “I’m not asking any of you to forgive my nephew for what he’s done. I’m not asking you to make excuses for him or to pity him. I just wanted to grant you some insight into the person he is, and why he acts the way he does today. You’ve already been more kind to him than I ever could have anticipated, which shows what honorable individuals you are. I am forever grateful to each of you.” His expression softened. “Zuko is too, even if he doesn’t seem it. Because of the way he was raised, he can’t comprehend the idea that others would show him compassion without it being earned, or without some sinister ulterior motive in mind. Your kindness is entirely foreign to him, so don’t take his aversion to it personally.”

This was exactly what Katara had been afraid of. That if they learned more about Zuko’s past, they’d start to realize he wasn’t the sick, totally irredeemable person they believed him to be. She wanted to hate him—wanted to see him as nothing but an obstacle in their path, a soulless enemy to defeat. But it was hard to do after hearing his life’s story. 

“If only Zuko had been surrounded by people like you growing up,” Iroh continued wistfully. “You all have such good hearts.”

Sokka swirled his boomerang in the air. “Yeah—too bad we all couldn’t live it up in the Fire Nation palace together, celebrating global tyranny and singing kumbaya around the fire.”  

Iroh hinted a somber smile, then rose to his feet. “I’m going to see if I can get my nephew to eat something,” he said, ladling another helping of soup into his bowl and pouring a second cup of tea. “Have a delightful afternoon, all of you.”

With that, he strolled back into the earth tent, humming a quiet tune to himself. The group was left to wallow in the tsunami of information they now knew about their arch nemesis. 

Eventually, Sokka huffed. “Well, if there’s anything we’ve learned from this bizarre little misadventure, it’s that the Fire Lord is literally the worst in every way imaginable, and deserves everything he’s got coming his way.”

“No kidding,” Toph agreed, cracking her toes.

Aang pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but...I kinda feel bad for Zuko.”

“Don’t,” Katara snapped, scowling at the fire. “We’ve all had hard lives. We’ve all been hurt and lost things we cared about. You don’t see any of us attacking towns or terrorizing innocent people.”

“But we were raised by good people,” Aang pointed out. “Even when we disagreed with them or fought with them, we never doubted that they loved us.” He rested his chin on his knees. “Zuko didn’t have that. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of change.”

“A lot of people are capable of a lot of things,” Katara retorted. “That doesn’t mean they’re ever going to do the right thing and actually commit to being better.”

Aang blinked at her, then gazed into the flickering flames. “Not if you don’t give them the chance...”

He considered telling them the truth about that day in the Earth Kingdom. When Zuko had broken him out of Zhao’s prison, saving his life—and, unknowingly, Sokka and Katara’s. If Aang hadn’t escaped and gotten those frogs to them, they could have died. The only reason the three of them were sitting together today, alive and well, was because of Zuko’s help.

But before Aang had the chance to speak, Katara scoffed and stood, marching toward the river.

“Katara?” he called. “Where are you going?”

“Swimming,” she answered without looking back. “After today, I seriously need a bath.”

He watched her stomp away, then exhaled defeatedly. Maybe he was being naive. Maybe Zuko wouldn’t change. But while the Fire Nation prince was stuck here with them, he’d try his best to be patient and kind to him—perhaps to the point where it no longer felt so foreign.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Iroh went back into the woods to forage for more tea leaves and herbs before the sun went down, leaving Zuko alone in the stone tent. While the others were off busying themselves around their campsite, Aang crept into the dark structure. He intended to pop in for only a moment to grab some nuts from his bag, but froze in the doorway at the sight he stumbled upon. 

Zuko was facing the back wall of the tent, sitting with his legs crossed and his spine straight. Four small candles were arranged in front of him, their flames rising and falling in sync with Zuko’s steady breathing. Aang immediately recognized the familiar scene.

“You’re meditating!” he exclaimed. Zuko flinched in surprise, the candlelight flaring and rippling, casting wild shadows across the walls. He turned on him lividly.

“Don’t scare me like that!” he shouted. “I almost torched you alive!”

“Sorry!” Aang said, grinning shyly as he stepped closer. “But you are meditating, right?”

Zuko huffed and turned back toward the wall, rubbing his wounded shoulder. “I’m trying to,” he said pointedly, re-assuming his sturdy position.

“That’s awesome!” Aang said, bounding to stand by his side. “I never would’ve pegged you as someone who meditates.”

Aang thought he remembered Zuko mentioning meditation back in the South Pole, but it seemed so out of character for him. He never expected to actually witness the hotheaded prince putting it into practice.

Zuko looked uncomfortable and irritated by Aang’s presence. He tried to ignore him, but the avatar wasn’t making it easy. The twelve-year-old stood over him, smiling from ear to ear.

“I meditate too. Every day, in fact! Meditation is a sacred tradition among Air Nomads. The monks always said it’s a great way to strengthen one’s discipline, inner peace, and spirituality.”

The flames danced and flickered, mirroring Zuko’s aggravation. “Then you should know how important it is to be quiet when someone’s trying to concentrate!” He jabbed his finger toward the exit. “Get out of here!”

Aang was beginning to realize that Zuko yelled a lot, but there wasn’t any real bite behind it. At least, not in his current condition. So for now, he wasn’t going to let it faze him. 

Ignoring Zuko’s demands, he plopped down beside him, making the royal teenager start. “Can I meditate with you?”

Zuko blinked, looking appalled. “What?” he gawked. “No!”

“Why not?” Aang asked, settling into his own meditation position with his fists pressed together and his eyes closed. 

“Because—because you’re going to distract me!” he cried. “There’s a million other places for you to do it besides here! Why don’t you go meditate with one of your obnoxious friends?”

“None of them practice meditation,” he explained simply. “Back at the Western Air Temple, me and the other monks used to meditate in a group, all of us sitting and breathing together in perfect harmony. I haven’t meditated with someone else for over a hundred years.” He opened one eye and hinted a sad smile. “I miss it a lot. I think it’d be nice.”

Zuko scowled at him, but it seemed more thoughtful than angry. Scowling also appeared to be a thing he did by default, not as an intentional expression of aggression. He could see him searching for a motive, a scheme, some kind of backhanded revenge plot in the avatar’s innocent request. He really did second guess every gesture of kindness offered to him. 

The firebender looked ready to blow a gasket, or snag his quartet of candles and stomp out the door. Instead, he exhaled forcefully, growling under his breath like a komodo rhino with a headache.

“If you’re quiet enough that I forget you’re here, I don’t care what you do,” he grumbled. 

Aang beamed, flinging his hands in the air. “Hooray!” he cheered. He leaned forward with a grin. “I like your hair, by the way.”

Zuko’s eyes popped open and flitted towards him bewilderedly. “W-what?” he stammered, as if that was the most absurd thing anyone had ever said to him. 

“Your new hair! It looks nice. A lot better than the bald ponytail thing you had going on before. It’s so cute and fuzzy now. I like it!”

Again, Aang watched the wheels in Zuko’s head turn, trying to find some convoluted ploy masquerading behind his friendly words. He couldn’t even take a tiny compliment without drowning in doubt and suspicion? It was as heartbreaking as it was endearing.

Once the prince deduced the avatar’s nice comment posed no immediate threat, but was simply a genuine approval of his change in appearance, his expression softened. “Oh,” he said. He stared at the wall, warmth rising in his cheeks. “Well, um...thanks. I guess.”

“Of course!” Aang chirped. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Zuko sweeping a timid hand through his hair, and felt pretty proud of himself.

“I like your hair, too,” Zuko said after an awkward pause. “Did you...do something new with it?”

Aang stared at him blankly. His delivery was so bland and clumsy, it took the avatar a full five seconds to realize that Zuko was attempting to make a joke. Immediately, he busted out laughing—not because the joke was good, necessarily, but because Zuko had actually tried to make one, and his effort was so hysterically ungraceful. 

“Ehahaha!” Aang cackled, hugging himself around the middle. “Good one, Zuko! I didn’t know you could be funny!”

The tiniest of smiles lifted one corner of Zuko’s mouth before vanishing without a trace. He made an oval with his hands, pressing his thumbs and middle fingers together, then straightened his spine. “Now be quiet,” he ordered bluntly, inhaling and releasing a slow, centering breath. 

Aang grinned and reflected his pose. Zuko was still a little shivery and sweaty from his fever, but both were growing less severe as Uncle’s tea worked its magic. The room fell silent except for the soft flickering of the fire and their synchronous breathing, and stayed that way for the next hour. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The avatar was the first one to break their vigil, floating to his feet and bounding out of the tent like a miniature whirlwind. “Thanks for letting me join you, Zuko!” he called cheerfully, then darted outside.

Zuko...didn’t know what to make of their interaction. He and the avatar were adversaries. He’d told him he wasn’t going to stop hunting him. As soon as he was healed, their little game of cat owl and spider mouse would pick right back up from where it had left off. 

So what had compelled him to come in here and meditate by his side?

Not only that—he’d opened up to him about his past, his culture, the society that raised him. The very people Zuko’s forefathers were responsible for wiping out. Was he trying to appeal to his humanity, guilt him into abandoning his mission to capture the avatar? 

And what was with the whole complimenting his hair thing?

The whole exchange left Zuko feeling off. He didn’t want to think about what would become of that peppy little kid once he delivered him into the hands of his father. Avatar or not, he was so agonizingly young. 

But tricky, as well. And conniving, all of them. Just like Azula. He wouldn’t let them get in his head. For however long he was trapped here, he’d avoid interacting with them unless it was absolutely necessary. He couldn’t afford any more distractions. 

“How are you feeling, Prince Zuko?” Uncle’s voice asked from behind him. “Have you managed to eat or sleep at all? I found some basil and turmeric to add to your tea. I know you don’t care for either, but they should help settle your stomach.”

Zuko turned toward him, grimacing as the movement sent little sparks of pain zipping through his muscles. “I’m going to sleep outside tonight.”

Iroh raised an eyebrow as he prepared the ingredients for the brew. “I don’t know if the avatar and his friends will approve. They wish to keep you contained and in sight, understandably, and—”

“I don’t care what they want!” he interjected. “I’m not sleeping in here with all of them. I won’t be able to.”

Uncle sighed exasperatedly. “Prince Zuko. They are already being very considerate. They’ve given you space and leave you to your business unrestrained.” He wafted the fumes from the pot toward his nose and breathed deeply. “If I were them, I would have chained both of us up. We aren't exactly trustworthy company.”

“I’m not sitting in this stupid tent anymore,” he growled. He braced one hand against the wall and tried to push himself upright, groaning and straining with effort. 

Uncle rushed to his aid, wrapping an arm around his waist and hoisting him to his feet. Zuko wanted to push him away, but there was no way he could stay standing without his help. 

“All right—easy now, nephew.” 

He took one step forward, and almost immediately collapsed. Pain bloomed across the bottom of his foot and shot up his leg like an explosion going off in his bones. He listed forward, dizzy and nauseous, gasping for breath. 

“Do not put any weight on your left side,” Iroh insisted. “Let me support you.”

“Th-this is...infuriating,” he hissed, panting. “Why am I still so weak?”

“It has only been a day, my prince. You must give yourself time to heal.” He slung his nephew’s arm over his shoulder and bore him forward. “Come on. We’ll go slow.”

Any progress toward the exit basically required Zuko to hop on his good leg. The violent motion still jarred him, but he managed to keep going, pausing in between to let the pain subside to a manageable level. Iroh would rather he let one of kids carry him out of the tent, but Zuko would sooner hop himself to death than allow that.

Once they breached the doorway, their little limping routine turned the heads of everyone outside. Katara stood up, hands balled into fists at her side.

“What’s going on?” she said.

“Zuko needed some fresh air,” Iroh explained, grunting beneath his nephew’s weight. He was basically doing all the work required to move him away from the tent. The prince hung off him loosely, grimacing in pain, a line of sweat glistening along his forehead. His face was abnormally pale and blanching whiter and whiter with every cloddish hop forward. 

“Do you need…help?” Sokka asked hesitantly. 

Iroh forced a smile. “No, we—” he began, but Zuko was sagging lower and lower, a quiet moan rising from his lips. “—Zuko? Are you all right?”

The teen’s head was suddenly spinning like a top. Gravity was pulling on him two times stronger than usual. His wounds throbbed and ached in protest. He’d barely walked two steps away from the tent, but apparently that was all his stupid body could tolerate right now. 

“Ugh…can’t…l-lemme...down…” he whimpered.

Alarm pricked Iroh’s heart. “Okay, okay. Here.”

He eased him carefully to the ground. Zuko slumped against the outer wall of the tent, panting harshly, gripping his leg with one hand and his chest with the other. 

“What’s wrong?” Iroh asked, kneeling in front of him and cupping his palm against his pallid face. 

“He doesn’t look good,” Aang noted uneasily.

Once she realized he wasn’t going to be doing anything threatening in his current state, Katara’s muscles uncoiled. “He shouldn’t be moving,” she said, stepping closer. “Especially if he hasn’t been able to eat anything today.”

“He’s been too nauseous to,” the old man said, fear creeping into his voice. He gave his cheek a few light pats. “Zuko—hey! Talk to me! Tell me what’s going on.”

His eyelids fluttered sluggishly as he fought to stay conscious and slow his rapid breathing. “Just...lightheaded,” he slurred, squeezing his shoulder and gritting his teeth. “Ugh...h-hurts…”

Iroh turned to Sokka. “I’ve prepared some tea for him inside the tent. Please—if you could—”

“Right,” Sokka said, hurrying into the stone structure. He reappeared a few moments later with the kettle and cup in hand.

“Thank you,” Iroh breathed. He filled the cup and held it to Zuko’s lips. “Here, nephew. Drink. It will help you feel better.”

Zuko wrinkled his nose but did as he was told. He abhorred the fact that he was acting so pathetic and weak—and in front of his enemies, no less—but he was so woozy, and everything hurt, and he just wanted it to stop. The tea was hot on his tongue and left a sour aftertaste in the back of his throat. He made a face and found himself missing Uncle’s classic jasmine brew. 

“Blech,” he said. 

“I know,” Iroh conceded sympathetically. Katara offered him a bowl, and he lifted the edge to Zuko’s mouth. “Have some water.”

Zuko braved a few small sips then pushed it away. He was still queasy and didn’t want to risk overwhelming his upset stomach. The black fuzz pressing into his peripheral vision was slowly beginning to retreat, and the world was no longer dipping and tilting around him. But he was still so tired. He rested his head against the tent, struggling to keep his eyes open, inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth.

“You must try to eat something,” Uncle insisted. “A couple bites of bread, soup—anything.”

Zuko recoiled at the thought of food. It was the last thing he was in the mood for right now. “I’m fine,” he grumbled breathlessly, sweat slipping down his face. “Just...lemme sit for a...a minute…”

“You will never recover your strength unless you eat,” Iroh said softly. He tore a piece of bread in half, took his nephew’s hand, and placed it in his palm. “Please, Prince Zuko.”

The firebender stared at the bread miserably. He looked so ill and weak—even Katara was nicked with pity at the sight. He must’ve been desperate to feel better if he was letting his uncle order him around without throwing a fit. 

Zuko wished there weren’t so many eyes on him right now, watching him lie half-conscious against the tent, barely able to hold his head up, shivering with pain and sickness as he nibbled defeatedly on the bread in his hands. Azula’s mocking voice echoed in his ears—weak, pathetic, miserable failure. Father’s piercing glare bore down on him, radiating disgust and disappointment. 

But Uncle was with him, pressed against his side, telling him everything was going to be okay as he gently guided his head to his shoulder.

“Don’t...wait...” Zuko whined. But once he was leaned against him, he felt himself starting to drift. Sleepiness curled around him like a warm blanket. Iroh pulled the bread from his limp fingers and ran his thumb along his cheek. 

“Just rest here a moment. I will help you move once you have the energy to stand.”

But Zuko made the mistake of closing his eyes. It was meant to be for only a moment, but after they slipped shut, he couldn’t get them to open again. As Iroh anticipated, his nephew was soon asleep. He pulled a rag from his pocket and mopped the fever sweat from his forehead. 

“Did he just...pass out?” Toph asked.

“He hasn’t slept since last night,” Iroh said, watching his nephew snooze against his shoulder with a tender fondness in his eyes. “He’s always been so stubborn, never resting until he’s completely burnt out or unless it is forced upon him—even when his body desperately needs it.”

Aang found the sight endearing. Katara thought the old man’s concern for his nephew was misplaced but sweet. Sokka narrowed his eyes, opening the tea pot and gingerly sniffing its contents. His jaw dropped. 

“Did you drug him?”

Iroh chuckled lightly, his eyes glinting with mischief. “An old trick his mother used to use when he couldn’t get to sleep as a child. Add a tiny dash of dragon thistle root to his tea, and he is out like a light.”

While the others reeled over the old man’s well-intentioned but semi-conniving actions, Katara’s mind honed in on one word: mother. During Iroh’s entire soapbox about Zuko’s past, he’d never once mentioned his mom. What did she think about her son? Was she like Ozai? Cold and heartless, happy to exile her own child in favor of her more powerful daughter? Or was she different? What part did she play in the strange, tragic menagerie of Zuko’s life?

Iroh smiled at the children. “Would one of you please grab a blanket for me, if you don’t mind?” 

“Sure!” Aang said, darting past him. Katara stared at Zuko’s sleeping face and decided not to ask about his mother. She already knew more about him than she wanted to as it was. And the more she learned, the harder it was to hate him.

Aang returned with the linens. Iroh gathered his nephew into his arms and carefully laid him down, tossing the blanket over his body and pulling it up to his chin. 

“Hopefully he sleeps through the night,” he said. It was funny to watch the person they fought and feared as an enemy be treated like a precious little baby by his uncle.

“I’ll heal him again tomorrow morning,” Katara said, then stalked into the tent without another word.

Her friends hesitated, then followed her inside. Iroh stayed beside his nephew, matching his breathing to his.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zuko woke up screaming. 

He’d suffered from night terrors since Mom had disappeared without a trace, and they’d only gotten worse since his banishment. He dreamed of her face being swallowed up in flames, of the ground turning to tar beneath him and dragging him into suffocating darkness, of his father scorching his eye again and again and again, the smell and the pain all too real. 

And now, he was dreaming of Azula. Eyes dark and remorseless as she shot lighting into the hearts of those he loved, sending Mom and Uncle toppling to the ground in smoking heaps before turning on him. He was lucky if he got through the night without shooting awake in a cold sweat at least one. 

When the lightning struck him, Zuko bolted upright, a terrified shout leaping from his throat. But something clapped over his mouth to stop it from escaping. Whatever it was was shaped like a hand, but it had the texture of rock. Panicked, fire flared from his fingertips. He made a grab for the stranger’s arm, but something caught his hands before they reached it, trapping them at his sides. He squirmed and cursed, voice muffled, heart racing. 

“It’s okay,” a girl’s voice said. “Shh. It’s me.”

A young face took shape in the darkness. Black hair and pale, faded eyes. It was the tiny earthbender that had showed up at the fight between Azula, the avatar, and himself. She must have joined their group while they were traveling through the Earth Kingdom. So far, the two of them had avoided direct confrontation—or rather, any interaction whatsoever. 

“I heard you. From the tent. And, uh, felt you shaking. I didn’t want you to wake anyone else up.”

Zuko stopped struggling, his breathing quick and his eyes blinking. Slowly, she took her palm away from his mouth. It was shrouded in rock, perhaps in case he tried any breath-related firebending moves. With a flick of her wrist, the earth restraints fell away from his hands. 

“Sorry for scaring you. I just figured you wouldn’t want anyone else hearing that, and I didn’t wanna get fried in the process of shutting you up.”

Zuko studied her in a fuzzy, flustered haze, panting quietly. “Oh,” he stammered. “Uh, r-right.” His bones were quaking under his skin. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears. He scrubbed a hand across his face and started when it came away wet. He touched under his eyes and realized his cheeks were damp with tears. Shame burned up his throat as he dried them frantically and turned away. “Um, s-sorry for waking you.”

She stared at him in silence. Well, not exactly stared—not with her eyes, at least. But he could feel her feeling him, gauging his movements, his voice. She probably knew he’d been crying. She barely looked a day older than the avatar, but exuded the power and poise of a master bender, all while retaining the appearance and quirkiness of a child.

Which was weird. Because as far as he could tell, she was totally blind.

“Well...goodnight,” he said, voice brittle. But she didn’t move. And he didn’t lay back down.

“They have them too, you know.”

He glanced at her bemusedly. “What?”

“Nightmares. They get them too. Aang, Katara, Sokka.” 

He scoffed lightly, rubbing his eyes. “And you don’t?”

She grimaced at the ground. “Not like they do. I had a difficult home life, but...it’s different.”

He gripped his arms at the elbows and stared off to the side. He wasn’t sure what she was looking to get out of this conversation.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

Zuko wrinkled his brow. “About what?” he said.

“Your nightmare.”

Heat flushed across Zuko’s skin. “No,” he said sharply, glaring between his feet. 

Toph shrugged. “That’s fine. Just thought I’d extend the offer. I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener.”

The girl grinned. Zuko narrowed his eyes. Was that supposed to be a joke? He kneaded gingerly at his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” he growled, wincing when he touched a particularly sore spot. “You can go away now.”

“I’m Toph,” she said, ignoring him enthusiastically. “I don’t think we’ve formally met.” 

Why don’t any of these people ever listen to a word I say? he thought bitterly. Also, I’ve never formally met any of you. He heaved a small sigh. 

“Hello,” he deadpanned. “Now get lost.”

“My friends don’t seem to like you, but I judge people for myself.” She flexed her feet in the grass absentmindedly. “And yeah, hunting Aang isn’t cool, but I don’t think you’re as bad as they make you out to be.”

Zuko was caught off guard by her blunt but oddly nice statement. He tried not to let it show, masking his surprise behind a scowl.

“I don’t care what you or your friends think of me,” he snapped, bunching the blanket in his fists. “Just leave me alone!”

“See, you put on this scary, tough facade, but I don’t think that’s really you,” she continued. “It's a defense mechanism.” 

Zuko fumed. “Are you blind and deaf? Go away! You don’t know me. Stop pretending like you do!”

“But I do know you,” she insisted. “You try to push others away so they can never get close enough to hurt you. You think by being mean and abrasive and keeping them at a distance, you’re protecting yourself. But really, you’re just making yourself more lonely.”

The firebender’s heart skipped a beat. Toph could tell she’d struck a chord. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish stranded on land, her words bouncing around in his head, freakishly insightful for someone who barely looked ten. 

“I know you because you’re like me,” she explained. “We’re not good at feelings and all that dumb mushy crap. We think doing everything on our own makes us stronger than accepting help from others. But I’m starting to learn that’s not always true.”

Was she baiting him? Trying to rile him up to the point that he attacked, granting her an excuse to kill him? Or was she truly speaking from the heart? Her observation stung a bit too deep to not be genuine, and sounded a little too familiar for his taste. 

Like Uncle. 

But he refused to dwell on it. He wouldn’t; he couldn’t. Stunned confusion was quickly superseded by prickling irritation. He scoffed indignantly.

“You’re crazy,” he spat. “You’re a child. You don’t know anything.”

Toph crossed her arms and smirked. “Then that makes two of us.”

Flames roiled in Zuko’s belly. “What?”

“Hey!” a voice called from the tent. Zuko turned and spotted Sokka peeking out from the darkness, an angry line twitching between his eyebrows. “Some of us around here are trying to sleep! Why are you guys yelling?” He stepped through the doorway with his boomerang cocked behind his head, glaring sleepily at Zuko. “Is Prince Angry Jerk here causing trouble?”

“I’m not doing anything,” he snarled, gesturing to Toph. “Your obnoxious little friend won’t leave me alone.”

“We’re fine,” she assured him. “I was just informing Zuko that his whole ‘bad guy’ charade is stupid, along with his entire mindset about everything.”

Smoke hissed from his nostrils and coiled from his fists. “Why, you little—”

“Ah-ah!” Sokka interjected, waving his boomerang threateningly. “Don’t even think about it.”

Zuko threw his hands in the air. “What, I’m just supposed to sit here while she calls me stupid to my face?” 

“Precisely,” Sokka said, sitting beside Toph. His hair was out of its usual ponytail and hanging in his eyes, forcing him to tuck it behind his ears every now and then. Zuko had never seen the Water Tribe boy with hair down before. It was a lot longer than he expected. 

Sokka bumped his shoulder against the earthbender’s. “Is this late night insult Zuko hour or something? Because I’m totally in, and very upset I didn’t receive an invitation.”

“I’m not trying to insult him,” Toph insisted. “I’m just telling him the truth.”

“What you’re doing is asking to get fried beyond recognition,” he spat viciously. Sokka leaned toward him and squinted.

“Why are your eyes red?” he asked. His brows shot toward his hairline. “Have you been crying?”

Zuko’s scowl dissolved into a look of panic. He’d tried to push the horrific nightmare from his mind, but the damage it had reaped was evidently still lingering. Drenched in milky moonlight, Sokka had never seen the Fire Nation prince look so scared and distraught before. Humiliation sawed at Zuko’s insides. He grappled for something to say—a quick and scathing retort. But his throat was seizing up, and a fresh bout of tears welled in his eyes.

“I…” he began, voice shivery. Toph punched Sokka in the arm. 

“Lay off,” she scolded him. “He startled me when I came out here to take a whizz, so I kicked dirt in his eyes. That’s all.”

Zuko turned to her in disbelief, blinking. She hinted a small smile that disappeared just as quickly. Relief drizzled over his heart. 

“Oh,” Sokka said, rubbing his shoulder, glancing between them skeptically. “Right.” He recognized immediately that they weren’t telling him what was really going on, but decided not to press the matter. If Toph thought it important to keep under wraps, he trusted her.

Zuko kneaded his eyes with the heels of his hands and avoided his gaze, feeling sticky and exposed. Why would she lie for me? he wondered. How does that benefit her? Wouldn’t she want to humiliate her enemy every chance she got? To show her friends how weak and pathetic he really was? Maybe she wanted him indebted to her. Or to have something over him to use as blackmail. 

Whatever the reason, he was relieved. For now, at least. A part of him wanted to thank her. He stared into her foggy eyes for a moment, hoping she understood. 

Toph responded by crossing her arms and grinning wide. “Anyway, back to you being stupid,” she said spiritedly. 

The prince deflated with a groan. So much for being grateful. “Seriously?” he exclaimed, his rage blossoming back to life. 

“You make no sense to me,” she continued unperturbed. “You're trying to capture Aang and bring him home to your dad so he’ll love and accept you, right?”

Zuko was off-put by the direct address. So was Sokka. The firebender huffed irately. “I’m not talking to you about this.”

“But it sorta seems like he’s been awful to you even before you were banished.”

The prince wasn’t sure how much she or others knew about his situation, but already it sounded like more than he was comfortable with. He gritted his teeth.

“Be quiet!” he barked. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You want a father who cares about you and understands you,” Toph said with a snort. “Trust me: I get it. My parents still think I’m some helpless little blind girl, not a butt-kicking, earthbending champion.” 

Zuko glared daggers through Toph. “Our situations aren’t the same. My father does care about me. Once I bring him the avatar, he’ll accept me as his son, and my honor will be restored.” 

Toph blew a tuft of hair out of her face and dropped her chin into her hand. Sokka rolled his eyes.

“No offense, Prince Jerkbender, but your dad is kind of the worst.”

Zuko turned away from them, hissing with pain and frustration. “This is why I’m not talking to you about this! None of you could ever understand!”

“What we don’t understand is why you’re set on getting your terrible father to like you when you already have someone who loves and accepts you right now!” Sokka cried, exasperated.

A shock went through Zuko’s system. He swallowed, gripping his wound and hunching his shoulders.

“What...w-what are you talking about?” he murmured.

Toph scoffed. “Um...your uncle?” she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the universe. “You know, the guy who left the Fire Nation to help you? Who travels around the world with you and supports you no matter how badly you treat him? The man who makes you tea and comforts you when you’re sick and tucks you into bed at night?”

“And who convinced us to help you even though we really didn’t want to?” Sokka added. 

Zuko’s chest tightened. Anxiety and confusion and an avalanche of other emotions churned inside his gut. He grimaced at the ground.

“He cares about you. Like, openly, aggressively cares about you. It’s as annoying as it is sweet.” Toph tilted her head to the side. “Why are you so determined to earn your dad’s love, when your uncle already loves you as you are?”

The prince didn’t look at them. He watched a beetle crawl over a rock, his fingers shivering against his aching shoulder. He inhaled sharply, then laid across the ground, yanking the blanket over his head and curling into himself. 

Sokka glanced at Toph, then back at Zuko, then sighed. It looked like there was no getting through to him. The earthbender rose to her feet.

“Drink some more of your uncle’s tea,” she demanded, then strode back into the tent. “G’night.”

Sokka was quick to follow her, yawning as he stepped into the darkness, shooting one last look over his shoulder.

Zuko shuddered alone beneath the stars, blinking back tears. A few restless minutes later, he heated up Uncle’s teapot, choked down another cup of boiling, bitter liquid, then nestled against the grass, praying that the rest of his night would be dreamless. That is, if he ever managed to fall asleep again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Is it just me, or is Zuko...kind of awkward?”

Katara stopped fixing her hair mid-braid, scoffing. “What? What do you mean?”

Aang stretched and smiled, the morning sunlight pouring in through the doorway gilding his limbs in a golden halo. “Yesterday, while we were meditating, I told him I liked his new hair. And he totally didn’t know how to respond—as if he’s never been complimented by anyone besides his uncle before. It was hilarious!”

Sokka shot upright, mouth hanging agape. “Wait—‘we?’” he exclaimed. “As in, you were meditating together?”

“Yeah! Zuko practices meditation just like me! Isn’t that cool?”

Katara frowned. “That’s...weird. He’s the last person I’d expect to see meditating. Especially with you.”

“I know, right?” Aang giggled. “The best part was, when I told him I liked his hair, he said he liked mine, too. Like, as a joke! Because I’m bald!” He laughed brightly. “It was so bad, but that only made it funnier!”

Katara huffed, tying off the end of her braid. “Well I’m glad you had fun with the guy who’s going to try imprisoning you the moment he can walk again.”

Aang winced at her coldness. “I’m just saying, Katara. If you’re patient and give him the chance, you’ll see there’s more to him than ‘angry scary firebender prince.’ He’s more human than you might think.”

When Katara simply rolled her eyes, Toph decided to speak up.

“So, don’t tell him I told you guys this, but...I had a chat with him last night. He had a really bad nightmare, and the sound of his cries woke me up.”

Sokka hopped to his feet. “Ha! I knew you were lying! I may not have lie-detecting feet, but I know a fib when I hear one.” His excitement was short lived, however. He backtracked with a troubled look, eyeing the doorway. “Oh...does that mean I was right before? You know...about him crying?”

Aang’s eyes bulged out of his head. “Wait—Zuko was crying?” 

Everyone’s gazes veered toward Toph. The tiny earthbender nodded solemnly, her expression grim. “He was screaming in his sleep. I had to cover his mouth to stop him from waking all of you up.” She scratched the back of her neck. “He was...calling for his mom. Begging her to come back. I don’t know what happened to her, or what their relationship is like, but…” she shook her head. “It was really sad.”

Silence veiled the room. Again, Katara felt torn in half by her usual eagerness to help those in pain and her hatred toward Zuko. Sokka put his hair up and placed his hands on his hips.

“The guy’s got a lot of issues, that’s for sure. Do I feel bad for him? Maybe, a little. Does it make me trust him any more than I did before? Absolutely not.” 

“Exactly,” Katara said, glad she had her brother were back on the same page. Aang crossed his arms against his chest.

“But he has shown us he has more than one side. You guys saw more of his vulnerable side, and I got to see part of his calm and awkward side.” He snickered into his hand. “Man, you should’ve seen his face! He has no idea how to take a compliment. I don’t think anyone’s ever called him cute before.”

Katara stuck out her tongue. “Who would ever have a reason to?”

“Oh, come on! You have to admit his new haircut is better than his old one!”

Sokka snorted. “I think anything is better compared to that disaster, so you’re setting the bar pretty low.”

Aang beamed between his friends. “You all should try complimenting him sometime, if only to see his response. It catches him completely off guard.”

Sokka blew a raspberry and walked outside, stretching his arms over his head. Katara wrinkled her nose at Aang’s chipper attitude toward all of this. How many times did she have to remind him that Zuko was their enemy who wanted nothing more than to see him in chains. Even if she liked his new look, and had maybe had to stop herself from touching his hair while he was unconscious and no one else was around to see (it just looked so fuzzy!), no way would she ever say so out loud. 

“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” she snapped. “Under no circumstances would I ever consider that monster cute.”

At that moment, Sokka popped back into the tent, looking both shocked and delighted at the same time. “Guys, you have got to come see this,” he said.

Katara and Aang exchanged a glance before following him. Toph came along too, although she had a feeling she already knew what he was referring to, based on the cluster of mismatched vibrations her feet were picking up.

The three friends tailed Sokka outside and stopped when they discovered a giant fluffy mountain resting in the sunrise. Appa had moved from his spot by the river and was now lying beside the earth tent. His ears perked up as they approached, but he didn’t raise his head. Aang didn’t understand what all the fuss was about, until Sokka coaxed him forward.

“Look,” he snickered. 

Katara and the avatar peered over Appa’s large foot to find a very bizarre sight. A bunch of animals were gathered between Appa’s front legs—a skink quail, a prickle snake, a pair of dragonflies, and a family of turtle ducks, which was strange in itself. But underneath the zoo of wildlife was Zuko, curled up and sleeping peacefully with all the animals snuggled against him, as if they were his babies and he was their teenage firebending mama. Even Momo was there, nestled in the crook of Zuko’s neck and shoulder, purring contently. 

“What the…?” Aang said, blinking.

“Right?” Sokka giggled.

“What exactly am I looking at right now?” Katara asked, her hands flying to her mouth in horror. “Oh no. He’s not—they’re not—eating him, are they?”

“He’s not dead, if that’s what you're asking,” Toph assured her. “His breathing and heartbeat actually feel better than they did yesterday.”

“They look like they’re just...cuddling him,” Aang said. He cupped his palms over his heart, melting with endearment. “Awww! That’s so sweet!”

“But why are they doing it?” Katara asked. The prickle snake was coiled into a spiral and resting on top of his belly. The four turtle ducks were pressed against his back, their tails tucked underneath his side. While the dragonflies occupied both of his arms, the skink quail burrowed itself in the bend of his knees. Appa had his nose against his shoulder blades and his toes under his head and feet, his deep breaths stirring Zuko’s hair. 

Okay, it was cute. Sue her. It still made no sense.

“Maybe he...smells good?” Sokka suggested dubiously. “From something in his uncle’s tea?”

Aang sprung on top of Appa’s head and petted his fur. “Whatcha doing with Zuko, buddy? Do you like him? Does he smell nice?”

“Maybe it’s because of his fever,” Toph suggested, pressing one hand against the ground. “He still feels a lot warmer than the rest of you.”

“So they’re snuggling him to sap his fever heat?” Katara said, fighting back a smile. It was oddly endearing—watching the prince sleep, his wiry shape buried in woodland creatures. He looked like a spoiled little kid surrounded by toys, or some kind of mystical forest spirit communing with nature. 

“Here Momo,” Aang called, hanging off Appa’s horn to try to scoop him up. Momo growled and hissed in protest, pressing closer to Zuko. His squirmy movements roused the slumbering firebender, making him wrinkle his brow and release a quiet moan. 

Zuko blinked sluggishly, the grass and the flowers poking up from the earth gradually coming into focus. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, feeling clusters of tiny bodies shift with his movements. Oh, great, he thought. Not again. He pushed himself upright, grimacing from a sudden jolt of pain, careful not to squish any of the little creatures around him. When he lifted his bleary gaze, he was surprised to find four pairs of eyes gazing back, wide with confusion.

“Ah!” Zuko yelped, flinching backwards sharply. The turtle ducks and the dragonflies sprung away from him for a moment, then quickly reconvened, nuzzling against his limbs. Momo hopped on to his scalp, pawing at his messy bedhead, but Zuko barely seemed to notice. His shock shifted to puzzled anger. “What on earth? Why are all of you watching me sleep? Don’t you know how creepy that is?”

Sokka shrugged dramatically. “Huh, gee, I don’t know. Maybe because we walked out here to find you having a giant cuddly slumber party with an entire petting zoo’s worth of animals.”

“Which for some reason doesn’t seem to be weirding you out,” Katara added, watching Momo growl at the dragonflies from on top of Zuko’s head. 

Aang and Toph giggled at the peculiar scene. Zuko glared between them lazily, stifling another yawn.

“It happens sometimes when I sleep out in the open,” he mumbled. “I don’t know why.” He winced when Appa nudged him in the back with his nose, as if he hadn’t noticed the enormous flying bison looming over him until now. Momo leapt from his head to his shoulder and licked his cheek. 

“Wait—you mean this is a regular thing for you?” Aang floated to the ground in front of him, beaming. “Waking up and being surrounded by a bunch of animals?”

Zuko shrugged, scratching at his disheveled hair. “Sorta.” 

The four friends just stared at him. He began to realize how strange this probably looked to people who didn’t have to deal with it on the regular. He cringed when Appa’s giant tongue lapped across the entirety of his back, plastering him in sticky saliva. 

“Ugh! Gross!” Zuko shoved the bison’s enormous nose in disgust. “Get your slobbery pets away from me!”

“They like you!” Aang insisted, eyes sparkling. “Wow! You’re like an animal whisperer! Look at you, surrounded by cuddly wildlife! You’re so cute!”

To everyone’s delight, Zuko’s cheeks turned pink. Aang hadn’t been joking about the whole ‘can’t take a compliment’ thing.

“I’m not—it’s not—cute,” he grumbled. “It’s annoying.” 

Frowning, he scooped the family of turtle ducks in his arms and placed them to the side, trying to look careless and angry while also being noticeably gentle. As soon as their feet touched the ground, they scurried back up his legs and into his lap with a chorus of quacks and chirps. His look of surprise made all four of them burst out laughing. Sokka grinned smugly. 

“Face it, Zuko. You’re a prissy little prince whose angry royal yelling attracts flocks of baby animals to snuggle you to sleep. If that’s not cute, I don’t know what is.”

Zuko’s cheeks went from pink to red. Until now, none of them had ever seen the firebender full-on blush before. Couple that with the dragonflies flanking his sides, the skink quail fluffed against his knee, the prickle snake slithering toward his neck, and the turtle ducks quacking incessantly at Momo, it was a scene all of them wanted painted and framed to treasure forever. One of the dragonflies prodded at his hand, asking to be pet, and he begrudgingly obliged.

“Whatever,” he muttered shyly. “It’s not like I try to make them come. They just show up.”

Toph hummed in thought. “I figured they were snuggling you because of your fever, but if this happens pretty often, then I don’t know what’s causing it.”

“I’m telling you, it’s a royalty thing. Wild animals just really like aristocrats. Especially ones that sing.” Sokka leaned toward Zuko suspiciously. “Can you sing? Come on—belt out a tune for me.”

Ignoring him, Zuko lifted Momo off his shoulder and placed him on the ground. “I don’t feel like I have a fever anymore,” he said. “I think it broke last night.” The lemur warbled in disappointment and scampered away.

His chills were gone, along with the skull-splitting migraine. Now he only had the aches and pains of his lightning wound to worry about. It wasn’t much of an improvement, but it was better than no progress at all.

“You still feel warm to me,” Toph said skeptically. Katara reached forward and held her hand against his forehead, making him wince in surprise.

“Definitely warm,” Katara agreed. Zuko pulled away from her touch sourly.

“I don’t have a fever,” Zuko snapped. “I’m just naturally hot.”

Katara blinked at him. Sokka snorted behind his hand. 

“Oh, is that so?” he snickered.

Zuko narrowed his eyes bemusedly. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s a firebender thing. We tend to run hotter than regular people.” He pushed at the dragonfly that was nibbling his ear. “But I’m unusually hot for some reason. Like, more so than normal firebenders.”

Now everyone was giggling. Zuko glanced between them with a puzzled frown, the double-sidedness of his words clearly not registering.

“What?” 

Sokka waved dismissively, clutching his stomach. “Oh, nothing,” he chuckled. “That’s just a pretty bold statement to make about yourself.”

One of the turtle ducklings scuttled on top of Zuko’s leg. He stroked its tiny head with his thumb unconsciously, scowling. 

“No it’s not,” he insisted. “It’s the truth. My uncle said so.”

Now the four kids were howling. Zuko started, eyes wide, then scoffed, balling his hands at his sides.

“What is so funny?”

“Are you sure your uncle’s not just saying that because he’s obligated to?” Katara giggled. 

Toph cackled with her arms crossed. “Personally, I trust Iroh’s opinion. If he says Zuko’s hot, then I’ll take his word for it.”

Aang and Sokka doubled over with laughter, hugging their bellies as their shoulders bounced up and down. Zuko’s face burned as the realization gradually dawned on him. 

“No, wait, th-that’s not what I…!” he began, but no one was listening to him. They were all too busy giggling like children at his simple slip-up. He sighed irritably, plucking the prickle snake from his shoulder and placing it in his palm. “You’re all so immature. You know I was talking about temperature...”

“Whatever you say, Prince Hotman,” Aang chuckled, bowing extravagantly. Zuko blushed and avoided their gazes, petting the snake bitterly. 

“Aren’t you scared it’s going to bite you?” Toph asked, pointing to the serpent in his hand. “Prickle snakes are venomous.”

Zuko looked down at the small reptile. “They never have before,” he said casually, letting it curl and slither around his wrist. 

“I think they like how warm you are,” she said. “That’s why they cuddle up to you to sleep. I guess it was pretty chilly last night.”

Without warning, Aang hopped over Appa’s leg and wrapped Zuko in a hug, making the prince recoil uncomfortably.

“Hey! W-what are you—?” he stammered.

“You’re right, Toph! He is really warm!” Aang nuzzled his head into Zuko’s shoulder, closing his eyes and grinning wide. “No wonder all the animals want to snuggle you! You’re like a big, cozy space heater!”

“Get off me!” he snapped, squirming and pushing the clingy airbender. The dragonflies hissed in protest, the turtle ducks squawked furiously, and the skink quail puffed into an angry little ball, cuing Appa to let out a guttural roar.

Feathers exploded from the skink quail as it took flight, flapping and fluttering in terror. The dragonflies screeched and zipped into the sky as the prickle snake sprung out of his hand and slithered into the brush. Quacking frantically, the turtle ducks scurried out of the prince’s lap, gunning for the river. In a matter of moments, all of the wildlife had fled the scene. Zuko blinked in surprise as Appa licked his hair, satisfied with his work. 

“Appa! How rude!” Aang scolded the bison, his arms still curled around the wriggly firebender. “Space heaters are meant to be shared!”

“I am not a space heater!” Zuko retorted, shoving Aang’s face away with both hands. The others weren’t sure whether they should be concerned or amused. It was a pretty funny sight, watching the two diametrically opposed benders squabble like little kids. 

To add to the humor of the situation, it was at that moment that Zuko’s stomach decided to release a long, loud growl. He and Aang both froze, startled by the sudden noise. Then the avatar laughed brightly. 

“It sounds like the space heater needs some fuel!” he giggled, releasing Zuko from his hold and flitting on top of Appa’s foot. Zuko stared sideways sheepishly, gripping his belly, still rattled by the random cuddle attack. His stomach continued to rumble against his fingertips, pleading for anything besides tea. He’d forgotten that he’d hardly eaten yesterday. Now that he was no longer nauseous, he was really beginning to feel the effects. 

“Do you have an appetite at all?” Katara asked. “We have fish and berries and a little bit of bread. You need to get some food in your system if you can.”

Zuko shrugged, trying to look casual. “I guess,” he mumbled. A second later, his tummy practically roared, causing heat to rush to his ears. 

“I think the monster in your stomach speaks for itself,” Sokka snickered. His friends chuckled alongside him. Zuko squeezed his belly tighter, as if he could smother it into silence. 

Katara tugged on the avatar’s sleeve. “Aang, why don’t you go grab him some breakfast while Sokka and I move him into the tent?”

Aang brightened. “Okay!” He formed a ball of air underneath his body and sprung onto it, balancing on top with one foot and zipping away like some kind of crazy performer in a freaky circus act. Toph followed after him, yawning and stretching.

Zuko looked uneasy as the two Water Tribe siblings approached. Appa nuzzled his back with his nose in an almost encouraging manner. 

“Can you walk at all, or do you want us to carry you?” 

The prince glowered. “I’m not going back in the tent,” he hissed. “And you’re not carrying me.” 

“You need another healing session. I figured you’d want some privacy.” Katara rolled her eyes. “But if you want to do it out here, grouchy pants, we can.”

Zuko thought on it for a moment. He supposed he’d prefer not having eight eyes watching as the Water Tribe girl put her weird glowy healing hands all over him. He looked up at the bison, who had angled his head toward him in an oddly convenient manner.

“Fine,” he mumbled. He grabbed hold of Appa’s horn and used it to lift his body off the ground, straining and sputtering. Once he was upright, he sagged against the fluffy monster, sweat beading across his brow, face flushed with effort. Appa stayed still for him, perfectly content being a two-ton support stand for the tiny, warm human. 

Katara and Sokka shared a look before flanking Zuko on either side, wrapping their arms under his and bearing the majority of his weight. They walked him toward the tent, letting his feet touch the ground so he didn’t feel like he was being carried even though that was essentially what was happening.

“Wow, Aang was right,” Sokka observed. “You are really warm. Just like a—”

“If you say space heater, I’m lighting your hair on fire,” Zuko grated out. 

Katara gaped. “If you even think about lighting my brother’s hair on fire, your ungrateful butt is going in the river.”

“Yeah,” Sokka chuckled. “The fishies need a turn cuddling Prince Hothead.”

Zuko grumbled something under his breath, but didn’t have the energy to banter. He hated having to be cared for and escorted around by his stupid enemies. The Water Tribe siblings in particular both annoyed and puzzled him. He’d never seen a brother and sister get along so well, let alone be protective of each other. Azula would never in a million years defend him if he were in trouble; she’d be watching from the front row with a bowl of fire flakes, cheering for his demise, if not trying to kill him herself. Similarly, for as long as he’d known them, Ozai and Iroh had always been rivals first, relatives second. Being dual heirs to the Fire Nation throne just gave you another person to compete with, to fear, to suspect of plotting your assassination. Royal Fire Nation siblings were never allies, and certainly not friends.  

He and Azula had been playmates when they were kids, of course. As a child, Zuko had protected his little sister whenever and however he could. But that only lasted until they began to understand who they were—what they were. Until Azula no longer needed his protection. Until he needed protection from her. 

If it came down to it, if it was life or death, would he still defend her? Or would he let her get what she deserved?

Even after getting zapped into oblivion by his sister, it was hard to say. 

“Where’s my uncle?” Zuko asked through his teeth as they led him into the tent.

“He went to a nearby town to get supplies,” Sokka replied. “He said he was looking for ingredients for some kind of burn balm for you.”

Sokka eyed him in a way that screamed you know, because he actually cares about you, unlike a certain son-banishing Fire Lord I know? 

Zuko turned away from his gaze and glared at the ground. He hoped Uncle would find what he needed and get back here soon. Whatever medicine he’d put on his eye in the infirmary three years ago had significantly sped up his recovery.

“How are you feeling right now, overall?” Katara asked. She and her brother helped him sit against the wall. He held his shoulder and panted softly, his face gnarled with pain. 

“Like I got struck by lightning two days ago,” he muttered.

Sokka barked out a laugh. Katara frowned at him. He withered beneath her glare. “What?” he said defensively. “It was funny! Wasn’t that supposed to be funny?”

“Why don’t you go harvest some nuts or something?” Katara said, pushing him toward the exit. Sokka dug his heels into the ground, narrowing his eyes at the injured prince. 

“You’re okay being alone with him?” Sokka asked. “What if he firebends at you?”

Katara scoffed in Zuko’s direction. “Don’t worry,” she insisted. “I’m more than capable of handling him myself.”

Zuko scowled, even though he knew she was right. Sure, he could get a surprise attack in—two, if he was lucky. But she’d easily counter with a lash of frozen water, rendering him immobile (and possibly eating the floor) in seconds, if not dead. She had gotten obnoxiously better at fighting since visiting the Northern Water Tribe. She was now one of the biggest threats he encountered when confronting their team, even when he wasn’t half-fried and barely able to walk. In his current state, he didn’t stand a chance. 

It wasn’t like he was planning to attack her—not right now, at least. Still. These were the anxieties constantly seething through his mind. In the event he needed to overpower her, it was scary to realize he probably couldn’t. Why did Uncle think it was okay to leave him all by himself with these people? The old man was far too trusting. 

Sokka wrinkled his nose. “Okay,” he relented, giving Katara a quick hug. Then he jabbed a finger at Zuko. “Don’t try anything funny or fiery with my sister, or you’ll be sorry. Got it?”

Zuko stared between them bemusedly, then offered a short nod. Sokka puffed up his chest and marched out of the tent, leaving the waterbender and the firebender alone inside. 

Once her brother’s footsteps had faded out of earshot, Katara turned to the prince with sharp eyes and an expression he couldn’t quite read. She popped open her pouch and streamed the water around her hands, cycling a slow breath through her lungs. 

“Let’s get this over with,” she said, and kneeled beside him. She pressed both palms to the wound on his chest and let the water flow over and into the burnt flesh, tracking the damage as it traveled through his body. Zuko tensed at first, the strange, cold feeling taking him by surprise. But as the pain began to ebb away—the stings, the aches, the twinges, all of it—he allowed himself to relax. Well, as much as he could relax with a Water Tribe girl who hated his guts sitting uncomfortably close to him with her hands on his chest. 

As the two sat in awkward silence, Zuko considered the possibility that choosing to be alone with Katara while she healed him was worse than being out in the open. 

“How long is this going to take?” he asked, shooting brief glances at her hands, but mostly just staring at the ground. 

“About twenty minutes, if you stay still,” she answered. Hardly a minute had passed, and already Katara knew she preferred healing an unconscious Zuko over an awake one. When he was asleep, she didn’t have to worry about breaking the tension, or tip-toeing around his injury, or those deadly golden eyes watching her every move. She didn’t even have to acknowledge that he was Zuko, their nemesis. He was just a body that needed to be healed. A broken pile of muscle and skin for her to mend with waterbending. It was like working with one of those dummies the Northern Water Tribe women had practiced and demonstrated their healing abilities on. Treating him while he was unconscious was easier because she didn’t have to think of him as a person. It was more like fixing a machine.

Zuko’s piercing stare lingered on her hands a little longer than she liked. Maybe she should get him to drink more of his uncle’s knock-out tea. Anything to escape the growing balloon of discomfort suffocating the air between them.

“How...are you doing that?” he inquired carefully, the glow from her waterbending glinting in his eyes. She weighed the question in her mind before choosing her reply. 

“Some waterbenders have healing abilities,” she said. “Lucky for you, I’m one of them.”

Zuko studied her for a second before looking away. “I’ve never heard of that before.”

“Maybe you would have, if the Fire Nation hadn’t killed nearly every last waterbender in the South Pole.”

Zuko’s eyes flitted wide for a moment before dropping to the floor. He swallowed, his hands fidgeting in his lap.

“I’m sorry.”

Katara’s steady hand movements wavered. She lifted her gaze to his. Now that she knew the story behind his scar—the malevolent forces and people who had allowed the prince to be permanently branded so cruelly—she found it difficult to tear her eyes away from it. She’d never noticed how painful it looked. How the scorched, leathery skin stood out so drastically against the rest of his young, unblemished face. He could be two totally different people, depending on which side of him you were looking at. Staring at him now made her stomach clench. It felt like she was seeing him—truly seeing him—for the very first time. 

The apology had caught her off guard. So much so, she didn’t realize how long she’d been gazing at him until he turned toward her. A flash of realization crossed his face.

“My—my sister didn’t give me this one too, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Katara glanced away quickly, feeling rude. “N-no, that’s not…” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Sorry.”

Zuko gave a small shrug. “It’s fine,” he said, although his expression told a different story. 

She went back to healing his shoulder. Now she was purposely not looking at his face, which somehow felt just as awkward. A full minute passed before either of them spoke again.

“Does it still hurt?” she asked quietly.

Zuko blinked at her. “What?”

“Your eye. Does it still hurt sometimes?”

A line formed between his brows. “It’s a scar,” he said.

“Is that a no?”

He shifted in place, looking thoughtful and uneasy. He reached up and grazed the burned skin with his fingertips. “I guess I sometimes think it’s hurting, but...I don’t think it’s real.” 

Katara nodded solemnly. “Sokka has a scar on his back like that. He fell out of a canoe as a kid and landed on a sharp patch of ice. It really rattled him, and he says it still stings from time to time. But he thinks it’s all in his head.”

Zuko looked down at her hands again. “Do you think it’s all in his head?”

The waterbender pursed her lips in thought. Then she lifted her shoulders somberly. “Does it matter? It still hurts him. Except there’s nothing I can do to make it better.”

The prince had a curious expression on his face, like he wanted to understand what she was saying while also knowing he never would. This was the longest she’d ever seen him go without boasting his signature scowl. 

“You and your brother care a lot about each other,” he said warily. Not as a question, but a stated fact. An observation. 

“Of course we do,” she said, almost laughing. Zuko eyed his shoulder wound dismally. 

“Must be nice,” he murmured. 

Katara followed his gaze and grimaced. “Oh,” she said. She’d almost forgotten it was his sister who had nearly electrocuted him to death.

“I guess not all siblings were meant to get along like you two.”

Katara couldn’t imagine not being friends with her brother. Sure, they’d had their fair share of spats and squabbles, as all siblings were bound to have. But to honestly, genuinely hate each other? To see him as an enemy rather than her most trusted companion? To not have each other’s backs through thick and thin, in every trial they’d faced together? 

And to actually try to kill each other…the absurdity of the concept blew her mind.

But she and Sokka weren’t Zuko and Azula. 

“I guess not,” she said softly. Her hands moved to hover directly over the gruesome injury. “Still...I can’t believe your own sister did this to you.”

“Have you met Azula?” Zuko scoffed. 

Katara narrowed her eyes. “If you had the chance, would you kill her?”

Zuko lifted his gaze and blinked. A flicker of uncertainty touched his irises—one that scared both of them. Then his expression clouded over.

“No,” he said adamantly, swallowing. “But if she was in danger dying, I don’t know if I’d save her.”

Silence shrouded the room. In that moment, it occurred to Katara that she was doing the exact thing she’d promised herself she wouldn’t do. She was interacting with Zuko like he was a normal human being, not their sworn enemy. Not the person who had tried to imprison her friend over and over. Not the prince of the most bloodthirsty nation on the planet. She cursed herself for so carelessly letting him in, for actually feeling bad for him. 

She set her jaw and refocused her attention on his wound. She wouldn’t let herself slip again.

“We saved you,” she pointed out coldly. “Because unlike you and Azula, we’re actually good people.”

She felt Zuko tense and saw his hand curl into a fist out of the corner of her eye, but she didn’t react. She continued to begrudgingly heal his injury, moving her palms along his collarbone. 

Unbeknownst to her, Zuko was actually glad she’d decided to insult him the same moment her hands changed position on his body. The feeling of the water healing his wound fanned outwards from wherever her palms touched, strange and cool and tingly—perfectly fine when it was just over his shoulder. But as she inched toward his neck, the tingly sensation started crawling up the sensitive skin, spreading underneath his chin. In an instant, the feeling went from soothing and mystical to tickling him like a feather. Zuko soon found himself clenching his teeth and coiling his muscles in attempt not to laugh, a position he had not anticipated being in. When it grew too much to handle, he jerked away, gripping his throat.

Katara winced in surprise, her water-coated hands hanging in the air. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Zuko blinked. “Um.” His face suddenly felt warm. How was he going to explain this? He rubbed his tingling skin nervously. “It just—hurt. I’m sore there.”

“Where? On your neck?” She reached toward his throat, but he flinched back from her touch. A line formed between her eyes. “Let me see. I might be able to help.”

“It’s fine,” he snapped. “I just tweaked it. It doesn’t need your freaky magic hands.” If that tingly feeling was pressed directly against his neck, he was certain he’d fall to pieces in seconds. He was embarrassingly sensitive, as Uncle had recently (and obnoxiously) discovered, and he had no desire for anyone else to find out—especially his enemies. He’d sooner let Azula fry his other shoulder than let that happen.

Fortunately for him, Katara didn’t press the issue. “Fine,” she said, letting her hands fall to her sides. “I’m done with the wound on your chest for now anyway.”

Zuko breathed a sigh of relief. Bullet: dodged.

“Now I can start on your foot.”

A spark of alarm shot up Zuko’s spine. His eyes popped open as she moved to sit by his feet.

“W-what?” he exclaimed. 

Katara gave him a questioning look. “Your foot,” she said, pointing. “It needs to be healed, too. You know, the one you can hardly put any weight on?” She gave his sole a light tap, causing dread to rise in his belly. “The lightning entered your chest, traveled down your left side, and exited out of the bottom of your left foot. The scar on it matches the one on your chest—it’s just smaller.”

Just the thought of that tingling sensation spreading across his sole was enough to make him twitchy. Zuko swallowed, worrying his thumbs in his lap. “Do you…have to heal it?” he asked timidly.

Katara frowned at him. “I mean, yeah. If you ever want to walk normally again.”

It took a moment for the change in his demeanor to catch her attention. He looked shy and fidgety all of sudden, as if he was about to give a speech but had forgotten his notes, and he was doing absolutely everything he could to avoid her gaze. His face also had a slight pink tint to it, like he’d been holding his breath. 

“Is something wrong?” she finally asked him. Zuko hesitated before shaking his head. He was doomed either way, but he refused to confess what was really going on. If he kept his mouth shut, at least there was a chance he could find the strength to stay composed—perhaps enough for her not to notice. 

Katara studied him for a few more puzzled seconds before shrugging it off and getting to work. She used one hand to hold his ankle steady while the other brought the water to his sole. The scar was in the center of the ball of his foot, just above his arch and right below his toes, which was why Zuko was having so much trouble walking on it. His leg would probably be stiff for a while, but she could heal it enough for him to at least start putting some weight on it again. 

But barely two seconds into the healing session, Zuko yanked his foot out of her grip. She flinched and looked up at him, narrowing his eyes.

“What are you doing?” she asked irritably. “I told you, you have to stay still.”

Zuko had his hands shoved under his armpits and his lips pursed tight. “Oh, r-right,” he said. His voice was pitched slightly higher than normal. When he didn’t return his foot to her, she grabbed his ankle and dragged it back to its original position. 

“Don’t move,” she demanded, and pressed her glowing palm against his sole again.

Easy for you to say! Zuko thought miserably. The tingly sensation revved back to life, sprawling down his heel and between his toes. It felt like his entire foot was being brushed with tiny, magical feathers. Even worse, it hurt to curl his arch or scrunch up his toes, so he really couldn’t move other than ripping his foot away or kicking her in the face, which he was seriously considering.

A flood giggles started building behind his lips. He twitched and snorted and slapped a palm over his mouth before tearing his foot away from her tingly touch. Katara huffed exasperatedly, balling her hands into fists.

“What is your problem?” she shouted. “What part of ‘don't move’ and ‘stay still’ do you not understand?”

Zuko’s ears felt like they were on fire. He hugged his knee skittishly, grappling for an excuse. “I don’t—I’m not trying to,” he stammered, rubbing his heel against the ground. 

“Then why do you keep doing it?”

The prince crossed his arms close to his chest. “Because—” he said, biting his lip. “I just—I don’t...like how it feels.”

Katara raised an eyebrow. “You don’t like how it feels?” she parroted mockingly. “You didn’t mind how it felt when I was healing your chest. Why is this any different?”

Zuko didn’t answer. The firebender was noticeably flustered—hands restless, shoulders hunched. Clearly there was something bothering him that he wasn’t letting on about. Katara’s expression softened.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” she said, changing her tone. Zuko was in a pretty vulnerable position. Even if he was evil, he still felt pain the same way she and all her friends did. As a healer, she had to acknowledge that. She sighed levelly. “But you need to stay still so I can heal you properly.” The waterbender nodded towards his foot. “Is it hurting when I heal you? Is that why you keep jumping away?”

Zuko shook his head. “N-no, it’s not...” he mumbled, scratching his forearm nervously. His eyes stayed locked on the ground, as if it would disappear from underneath him if he dared look away. “It’s just...weird.”

“Weird?” she said.

“Yeah.”

“Weird how?”

“You know...weird.”

Katara scoffed. “You’re not making any sense.”

“Forget it,” Zuko growled, scowling between his feet. “I’ll let it heal naturally.”

“You’ll have a limp for the rest of your life if you do that.”

A grimace crawled across his face. Zuko shifted uncomfortably, weighing the two evils in his mind.

“Just tell me why you can’t keep still,” Katara insisted. “Use your words, your highness. Does it sting? Does it burn? Is it making your skin pruny? What?”

“It doesn’t matter, okay?” he snapped. “It feels weird, so I’m not staying still.” He turned away bitterly. “Why don’t you learn how to heal in a way that doesn’t feel weird?”

The waterbender stared at him with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. She placed her hands on her hips. “You’re being a spoiled little brat right now, you know that?”

Zuko continued glaring at the wall, his stomach rumbling quietly. Katara sighed.

“Fine,” she said. She stood and walked out of the tent, disappearing into the sunshine. Zuko watched her go, blinking. Had she given up? Maybe she had another way to heal him that didn’t require tingly waterbending magic. He exhaled slowly and stretched out his legs, allowing himself to relax a little. 

The moment he did, two bands of earth rose up from the ground and wrapped around his ankles, trapping his feet in place. At the same time, the wall opened up behind him and swallowed his arms from the elbows down, pinning his hands behind his back. Zuko yelped in surprise, straining against the newly formed bonds as Katara re-entered the tent, tailed by Toph.

“Hey! W-what are you doing?” He tugged and pulled to try to free his arms, grunting with effort.

Katara smirked. “Making you stay still so I can heal you, of course.” 

Zuko gawked. Uh oh. Trying not to laugh when he could pull away from the tickling sensation anytime it grew too intense was already hard enough as it was. But trying not to laugh when he couldn’t escape it at all? Not good. 

“Now I can make sure you’re up and walking again in no time.” Katara grinned at the earthbender. “Thanks, Toph.”

“Sure,” Toph replied, looming over the trapped firebender smugly. Zuko blanched, squirming even more.

“Th-this is absurd! Let me go!” The prince wrenched and fought with all his might, but it was clear he wasn’t going anywhere. He was thoroughly, entirely pinned. Even at his full strength, he doubted he’d be able to escape Toph’s rock-cuffs.

“Relax, Squirmy,” Toph chuckled. “You’re in good hands. Katara knows what she’s doing.”

She most certainly does not, he thought skittishly. Not yet, at least. And I’d really prefer to keep it that way! He twisted and turned as the Water Tribe girl sat by his feet again, reaching for his now defenseless sole. Anxiety leapt into Zuko’s throat.

“Wait!” he cried. “I’ll—I’ll be still. I promise.” He fidgeted sheepishly. “Just...let me out of this.”

Katara had no idea what was causing him to act so strange and frantic. She’d never had anyone respond to her healing sessions this way. But as entertaining as it was, she’d had enough of it. 

“I’m sure you would, Zuko,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But this guarantees it.”

With that, she pressed her palm to his foot and willed the water to mend the damaged flesh. It was a lot easier to do now that he wasn’t pulling away every two seconds.

Once she got into her usual healing rhythm, she looked up at Zuko, expecting the assuage to calm his bizarre uneasiness. Instead, she found him with his face buried in his shoulder as his cheeks burned bright red. 

“Zuko?” she said, startled. “What’s wrong?”

The prince shook his head, his body shivering like his fever had returned. He was trying his best to hide his face, but she could see enough to notice he was smiling, although it looked like he was fighting it with every ounce of his being.

“Why are you smiling?” she asked, the corners of her own lips lifting in puzzled amusement. She didn’t think she’d ever seen the grumpy firebender actually, genuinely smile before. It was a nice look on him, even when he was trying desperately to conceal it. He was also making a bunch of funny little noises—stifled squeaks and snorts he was struggling to keep at bay. At the same time, he was twitching and wriggling sporadically, as if his pants were crawling with centibeetles.

“He’s smiling?” Toph asked, mirroring Katara’s grin. Curiously, Katara’s gaze dropped to his foot. She moved her hand down his sole and gently fluttered her fingers against the center of his arch. Zuko’s wild reaction confirmed her hilarious hypothesis. 

“Ahack!” the prince yelped, his entire body going rigid. He whirled on her bewilderedly. “Dohon’t do that!”

Katara’s face lit up with delight. “No way. You’re ticklish?” She scribbled her nails toward his heel, making Zuko squeak and writhe. “Oh man! You are! That’s why you’re being so weird and squirmy!”

“S-stohop it!” Zuko giggled, a giant smile overtaking his features. Meanwhile, he was absolutely dying on the inside. This was too humiliating for words. His whole body smoldered with embarrassment while his toes twitched in protest. 

“Is my waterbending tickling you?” she wondered aloud, swirling one finger against his sole in thought, fiercely enjoying his erratic response. If there were ever a time she’d consider calling Zuko cute, it was now, when he was squealing and squirming beneath her delicate touch, flashing one of his rare (and surprisingly radiant) smiles, his face rosy with shame. She chuckled softly. “Hm. That’s new. No one’s ever told me it tickled them before. You must be really sensitive, huh?”

Thankfully, Katara did stop tickling him, but the evil smirk she drilled him with rendered him no less flustered. The damage was done, and there was no taking it back. Toph placed her fists on her hips and grinned smugly.

“Aw! No wonder he didn’t want to tell you why he couldn’t stay still. The little Fire Princey is embarrassed! How cute!”

For the second time that day, Zuko’s face turned as red as a lychee nut. He pouted timidly. 

“Sh-shut up!” he snarled. “It’s not cute!” He didn’t seem to understand the fact that the more he denied it, the less he was helping his case. 

“What’s not cute?” Aang’s chipper voice called, causing dread to shudder up Zuko’s skeleton. He and Sokka stepped through the doorway, holding bags of provisions. 

Katara giggled into her hand. “Yeah, Zuko,” she said pointedly. “What’s not cute?”

The firebender shrunk into himself shyly. Aang tilted his head to the side.

“Why is Zuko all bound up?” he asked. “Did he attack one of you?”

“He wouldn’t stay still for Katara’s healing session,” Toph explained, a mischievous glint in her faded eyes. 

Katara pressed her water-cloaked palm to his foot again, boasting a bright grin. “But we don’t have to worry about that anymore! Right, Zuko?”

If Zuko were able, he’d definitely kick her in the face right now. Unfortunately for him, all he could do was cringe and bite the inside of his cheek, battling back a wall of bubbly giggles while squirming against his restraints. 

“Why does he look like he’s about to explode?” Sokka asked, frowning.

“But like...happy explode!” Aang observed. 

Toph chuckled, unable to keep quiet any longer. “Because Katara’s water healing technique is tickling him,” she explained, feeling Zuko’s heart leap in despair. “She has to heal the exit wound on his foot, but apparently his feet are super ticklish.”

To Zuko’s dismay, two more pairs of eyes turned on his blushing, smiley self with stunned delight. Other than the Agni Kai with his father, Zuko couldn’t remember another moment in his life where he so desperately wanted to be invisible. 

“Zuko is ticklish?” Aang exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. “Aw! That’s adorable!”

Zuko considered retaliating, but if he opened his mouth, laughter was the only thing coming out. Sokka snickered.

“First we discover you sleep with a traveling petting zoo, and now we find out you’re ticklish?” The Water Tribe boy tsked disappointedly. “Man. Your bad guy aesthetic has taken a major hit today, buddy.”

Aang hopped to Zuko’s left side, leaning in close to his flushed face. “If you’re tickling him, how come he’s not laughing?” he inquired. 

Katara chuckled softly. “I think he’s putting all his effort into keeping himself from laughing,” she said. “He seems determined not to let us hear it.”

A steady stream of whimpers and squeaks were escaping the flustered firebender, but he was somehow managing to stave off the tsunami of giggles. If somebody wasn’t intentionally tickling him, it seemed he was able to stay quiet, so long as all his focus was honed in on that goal.

Before Aang had a chance to remedy this injustice, Iroh appeared in the doorway of the tent, beaming with excitement.

“Zuko, look what I found!” he exclaimed, holding up his fist. “Feathers from the rare blue skink quail! Legend says if you add them to your tea, they can cure any ailment!” He eyed the long quills suspiciously. “Unless I am mistaken, and they are actually normal skink quail feathers, which are known to cause uncontrollable dysentery if consumed…”

He glanced up from his dilemma to find his nephew pinned down with shackles made of earth, looking extremely red in the face. He was surrounded by the avatar and his friends, who appeared amused by the prince’s pitiful squirming.

“Hey Iroh, did you know Zuko is ticklish?” Aang giggled. 

Iroh blinked, taken back by the sight and the question. “What are you doing to my nephew?” he asked bemusedly.

“I’m just healing him,” Katara insisted, pointing to the glowing hand on his sole. “But I guess the feeling on his foot tickles, so we had to restrain him to keep him still.” 

Iroh stared at Zuko’s twitchy toes, then at his smiling, blushing face. A stroke of endearment touched his heart. He loved seeing Zuko smile, even if the reason at the moment wasn’t to his liking. Unfortunately, the only way to get his hotheaded nephew to smile nowadays was through convoluted and unconventional methods like tickling. He tried not to use his adorable sensitivity against him too often, knowing it embarrassed the prince tremendously, but sometimes he felt he had to do it just to remind himself that Zuko was capable of joy and laughter, no matter how hard he tried to convince both of them he wasn’t. It was especially nice to see him smiling now, after nearly losing him to Azula’s attack. The thought of never seeing his nephew’s happy face again was too painful to dwell on. 

“I see,” he said, the corners of his mouth turning upward. “He’s probably not pleased you found out about his little weakness.”

“Uncle!” Zuko squeaked out before shutting back up again, clenching his teeth behind his lips. The children chuckled in delight. He was really struggling now, snickering and sputtering with his eyes squeezed shut. Not even Katara was immune to the endearing scene. She offered him a sympathetic smile. 

“You know you can laugh if you want,” she said earnestly. “I imagine it’s not easy to fight it for this long. It might actually be good for you.”

“Yeah!” Aang chirped. “It’s just like the monks always said: laughter is the best medicine.” He sat down beside him, beaming brilliantly. “Don’t be shy! Go ahead!”

Zuko shook his head adamantly, shoving his face into his shoulder as his whole body trembled and quaked. He had already been humiliated beyond all reason—he would not grant them any more satisfaction at his expense. A wry grin curled along Sokka’s lips. 

“Perhaps the stubborn prince needs a little more encouragement,” he suggested. He plucked one of the large feathers from Iroh’s fist. “Could I borrow one of these?”

“Sure,” Iroh said knowingly. “I probably won’t be using them anyway. I don’t have a great track record with concocting teas from strange things I found in the wilderness.”

Sokka skipped between his friends to sit on the firebender’s right side, opposite of Aang. “This oughta do the trick,” he said. Grinning eagerly, he held the soft end of the feather above Zuko’s torso, wiggling it threateningly. “Hey Fire Lord Spawn,” he teased him, “is your upper body ticklish too?”

Something lithe and fuzzy started brushing against his side, causing Zuko’s eyes to fly open. Horror sprawled across his face as goosebumps bubbled up from his skin.

“Ah! W-wahait! Don’t—!” He clamped his mouth shut and tried to angle his body out of the feather’s reach, but Sokka made sure the tickly bristles stayed glued to his side, gliding in the space between his hips and ribs. 

Zuko’s steely resolve was snuffed out in seconds. The sensation tickled far too much for the poor prince to take. Add that to the tingly tickles on his foot, and he knew he was done for. In real time, the four kids and the old man watched Zuko’s willpower rapidly crumble away: from whimpering to snorting to thrashing in place, until finally—

“Ehahaha!” he belted out, his cheeks glowing bright pink. He bucked and writhed, bursting with uncontrollable giggles. “Nohoheehee! Stahap!”

“Aww! There ya go!” Aang cheered.

“No way,” Toph gasped. “That’s Zuko?”

Sokka smirked triumphantly as he swooped the feather up and down the full length of the firebender’s side, drawing airy, nervous giggles from his lips. It was a softer kind of laughter compared to the time Iroh had attacked his tummy in the cave, but just as endearing—if not more so. Plus, in his current state, gentler tickling was definitely more appropriate. 

“Q-quihit it! Gehet awahay!” His eyes darted around the room, searching feverishly for a way out of this ticklish nightmare. Among the unfriendly faces, he spotted Iroh, who was watching the scene play out from the back, chuckling softly. 

“Uhuncle!” Zuko bubbled, his wide smile and bright laughter melting Iroh’s heart. He squirmed helplessly, burning from head to toe. “Mahake them stohop!”

Iroh grinned, stroking his beard. “I think the avatar is right, Prince Zuko. Laughter is a wonderful remedy for a broken body and a troubled soul. Indulging yourself in it for a little while may benefit your condition, especially right now.” 

Zuko stopped listening six words in, when it was clear he wasn’t going to help him. His mind was too occupied by the feeling of the feather delicately tracing the right side of his ribcage, causing light but frantic giggles to spill from his throat. Sokka lingered in the spot just below his underarm, teasing and stroking the exceptionally sensitive skin, then dragged the feather back down his side, fluttering the tip right above his hip bone. 

Katara chuckled along with the giggly prince, still grappling with the notion that the shrill, happy noise ringing in her ears was coming from Zuko. The typically grumpy firebender had a laugh that was both joyful and shy, like every second longer he heard himself doing it was making him all the more ashamed of it. He continued to try to muffle his giggling but was failing at every turn. The fact he was so mortified by the sound of his own laughter almost made her sad. 

“I think Prince Grouchy Butt is embarrassed of his laugh,” she observed amusedly. “Is that why you don’t do it very often?”

The blush in Zuko’s face bled down into his neck. Iroh chortled.

“He has a strict image of hostility and toughness he likes to maintain,” the old man explained. “I don’t think giggling like a child fits into that criteria.”

Sokka cooed, brushing the feather all over his belly. “Poor little Zuko, trying so hard to act tough. Too bad all it takes to shatter that facade is one wiggly feather!” He painted figure eights across his abs, noticing the sharp leap in the prince’s voice. “Hate to break it to you, but I don’t think tough guys typically have such ticklish tummies.”

“Stahap patronizing me!” Zuko demanded between giggles, doubling over as much as his restraints would allow. “Youhou’re all gonna—p-payhay for this!”

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” Iroh assured him, unfazed by his nephew’s squeaky threats.

“Yeah,” Katara agreed, grinning fiendishly. “Your laugh is super cute.”

The way he looked at her, you’d think she just told him he would never walk again. Katara couldn’t help but snicker, which only made his face heat up more. Zuko fought once again to stem the waterfall of laughter from breaching his lips, but it was hopeless. The feeling of the feather teasing his bare skin was driving him mad with giggles.

“Nohot—it’s nohohot—eheeheehahahagh!”

He was so focused on the soft bristles mercilessly exploring his right side, he didn’t even notice the avatar nabbing a feather from his uncle and floating down on his left until he started swirling the soft end inside his belly button. 

“Katara’s right, Zuko! Your laugh is super cute. Now I just wanna hear more of it!”

Zuko threw his weight around and arched his spine. “Nohohahaha!” he squealed, the sensation sending shocks across his ticklish tummy. “Ahagh—s-stahap! Thahat feels so weeheeheird!”

The room buzzed with laughter. “He means it tickles,” Katara translated with a snort. “Weird is his word for when something tickles.”

His hysterical response only seemed to goad Aang’s tickling fervor. The airbender drew slow ‘Xs’ over his navel, skimming the side of the feather along the edges as he stroked the tip back and forth, all while asking in a playfully mocking voice, “Does this feel weird, Zuko? Or this? How about this?”

Meanwhile, Sokka started scratching his midriff with the quill part of the feather, which Zuko didn’t expect to tickle beyond human comprehension. But it did, making him shiver and squirm and peal into shrill, sheepish laughter. 

“Ahaha! Ihi’m—ehaha—mhmheeheehee!”

He didn’t even know what he was trying to say at this point. Every ticklish inch of him wanted to beg for mercy, but that would require sacrificing his last leg of dignity, and he was resolved not to degrade himself any further. Unfortunately, that meant he just had to endure their torment until they got bored with it, and who knew how long that would take. 

Sokka and Aang could sense the firebender was reaching his limits. They exchanged a look and eased back on their tickle attack, switching to the fuzzy sides of their feathers and giving him longer breaks between strokes. He was still wounded, after all. If this was how he reacted to being tickled by two gentle, innocuous feathers, Aang could only imagine how much he’d lose it if they started using their hands.

The prince’s laughter returned to nervous, airy giggles—the kind that made Iroh want to pinch his rosy cheeks. He twitched and flinched every time the feathers made contact with his skin, which Sokka and Aang were brushing higher and higher up his body. 

“Do you think his armpits are ticklish?” Aang wondered, stroking his feather dangerously close to his underarm, making Zuko cringe.

“Good question! Why don’t we ask him?” Sokka did the same, drawing a yelp from the firebender’s lips. “Hey Zuko, are your armpits ticklish?”

Poor Zuko was doing everything possible to guard himself, pulling his arms as close to his sides as he could, but the way he was pinned didn’t allow him to protect them completely. The remaining gaps were the perfect size for two silky feathers to slip right into and destroy him. 

“Youhou’re both soho dehead,” he giggled helplessly, straining against his bonds. 

“I can confirm his armpits are quite ticklish!” Iroh exclaimed. “In fact, they may be his worst spot.”

Zuko bared his teeth at his uncle in what he hoped resembled a snarl. “Youhou’re dead too!” he snapped, his arm muscles trembling with effort. “Traihaihaitor!”

“How ‘bout, on the count of three, we both go for his pits?” Aang proposed to Sokka with a wink.

Sokka grinned, winking back. “Ready when you are.”

Aang held his feather toward his underarm. “One....”

Sokka mirrored him, swirling the quill tauntingly. “Two…”

Zuko went pink with anticipation. He shut his eyes, squirming anxiously. “Ihi’m gonna—k-kill all of you!”

The two boys giggled at the flustered prince, drawing out the last count just for good measure. Aang smirked in delight. 

“Three!”

Both of them lunged toward the firebender without making contact. As expected, Zuko busted out laughing anyway, nervous giggles pouring from his lips.

“What’s the matter? We’re not even touching you!” Sokka teased him. 

“We’re not tickling you, so why are you laughing?” Aang concurred. They wiggled their feathers an inch away from his skin, inflicting him with phantom tickling sensations. 

Zuko was at his wit’s end with this entire humiliating affair. He continued to writhe restlessly, snickering into his shoulder. 

“You jerherks! You’re insane! Ahall of you!” He squeaked as Katara’s hand crept toward his toes, shooting tingly, tickly snakes between them. “Come on! Lehet me go already!” 

Sokka cocked his head to the side. “We’re jerks? For not tickling you?”

“Sounds to me like you’re mad that we aren’t actually tickling you,” Aang mused. 

Zuko stiffened. “W-what?”

“We were just messing with you with the whole countdown thing,” Sokka continued.

“But if you’re going to call us jerks for not tickling you…”

“Then I guess we better give the guy what he wants.”

The whole scheme was so well-rehearsed, Zuko was almost impressed. But he didn’t get to marvel at it long. A second later, two fuzzy feathers were swishing against his underarms, setting off every nerve ending in his body. 

“Ahahaheehee!” He threw his head back, cackling wildly, twisting from side to side. “N-noho! Pfftahahack! Cuhut it ahouhahahaaa!”

Hiccups began punching through Zuko’s giggle fit. It didn’t look like Iroh had been kidding. Aang drew circles in the hollow of his pit while Sokka skated his feather up and down the underside of his upper arm, rendering the prince a wriggly, squealing mess. None of them could get over just how silly and adorable their nemesis was when he was laughing like crazy and squirming away from their tickle attack. He went from angry, scary firebender to giggly little teenager with one stroke of a feather. The happy expression on his face reminded Aang of his old friend Kuzon. 

“What was it that I heard Azula’s call you?” Aang said, bopping him playfully on the nose. “Zu-Zu, right?”

“Zu-Zu?” Katara repeated, laughing out loud. “That’s so cute!”

At that point, Zuko’s entire body had turned a rosy red color. The feathers wisping against his underarms were driving him ballistic—not to mention their incessant efforts to make him blush. 

“Dohon’t cahall me thahahat!” he giggled shrilly.

“How come?” Sokka asked, fluttering his feather in the hollow of his pit. “Does Prince Zu-Zu not like his adorable little nickname?”

Iroh chuckled lightly to himself, both adoring and pitying his poor nephew. “Are you going to join the fun?” he asked Toph, offering her the last feather.

“You’re terrible,” she snorted. “I love it.” 

She snatched the quill from his hand and sat beside Katara. When the earthbender began whisking the soft bristles across his uninjured sole, Zuko’s whole leg jolted violently.

“Whaha—nohoho!” he cried. He curled his toes and flexed his foot, but it did nothing to deter Toph’s delicate and meticulous destruction of the ticklish firebender. She tickled the entirety of his sole, gauging his reactions to see which places and methods made him squirm the most. Sawing the feather between his toes ended up being her deadliest technique, leaving Zuko in writhing, squeaky stitches.

Now all four of them were teamed up on him, and Zuko was starting to lose it. The fuzzy feeling of three wiggly feathers and one tingly hand all tickling the most sensitive areas of his body at the same time was making his brain go haywire. It seemed the longer they teased his ticklish skin, the more sensitive it became to their touch, rendering him more desperate and more giggly with each passing second. 

“Thihis—ihis—ehevil!” he gasped. Every word was either punctuated by hiccups, or followed by a stretch of silent laughter—where he was giggling so much, he could hardly make a sound. 

Katara scoffed. “Did Zuko just call us evil? That’s hilarious.” She watched her friends tickle the helpless firebender to bits and chuckled at his hysterical flailing. She could hardly believe the cruel soldier she’d fought in the North Pole and the laughing teen wriggling in front of her were one and the same. It was crazy to think she actually used to be afraid of him. She could probably sit here and watch him squirm all day long and never get tired of it.   

When Aang realized Toph had joined the fray, he switched to gently tickling Zuko’s neck to give him a breather. Sokka did the same, brushing his feather in the gap of his collarbone every now and then, sending spikes of chills across the prince’s skin. 

Zuko’s giggling calmed down a tiny bit, but not as much as they expected. Aang laughed when he stroked the feather towards his ear and Zuko scrunched his head to his shoulder with a squeak. 

“You might be the most ticklish person I’ve ever met,” Aang said cheerfully. “And I’m a hundred and twelve years old!”

“You’re definitely the squirmiest person I’ve ever met,” Sokka agreed, copying the movement on Zuko’s right side, making the prince yelp and hike that shoulder to his ear.

“Stahahap it!” he giggled. He didn’t know how much more of this he could bear. His flesh tingled all over, shuddering beneath the soft, silky touch of the three fuzzy feathers, which stroked and brushed and teased his bare skin without mercy. He’d breathe fire at them if he could, but it was impossible to gather enough air in his lungs to attempt the technique when he was laughing this hard. 

The Water Tribe boy and the avatar started working in tandem to tickle whichever side of his neck was left exposed while Zuko struggled to guard himself, turning it into a fun little game of back and forth. He fought so hard not to shrink up every time they switched sides. Unsurprisingly, he failed every time. 

“You’re so cute when you try not to squirm!” Sokka laughed, stroking the feather against the back of his ear. “Go ahead, keep fighting it. I’m sure it’ll work eventually.” 

“Eheehee!” Zuko squeaked helplessly, jerking away and making Sokka smirk. “Y-you—rahat vihiper!” 

The prince was spiraling. Just when he figured things couldn’t get any worse, Aang and Sokka jumped back down to his ribs and belly, gliding the feathers all over his torso and making him want to disintegrate.

“I think this is the most fun I’ve ever had with a firebender,” Toph said, poking the quill between his toes.

“Me too,” Katara agreed. “Look how smiley and blushy he is! It’ll be hard to ever take you seriously again after I’ve seen you like this.”

Zuko shook his head feebly. It was bad enough they were tickling him to humiliating extremes, making him erupt with high-pitched laughter that he was powerless to quell no matter how much he tried to shut up. Did they really have to make fun of him as well? He couldn’t even move, let alone cover his stupid, blushing face! Talk about fighting dirty. All he could do was wriggle and squeal as they tickled him senseless, his smile as wide and bright as the sun. 

“Ahahaha! Guhuhuys!” he howled. What he would give to be an earthbender right now—or to temporarily have one on his side. 

“Based on his heart rate, he gets even more flustered when you tease him while you tickle him,” Toph observed with a grin. She stroked the feather from the bottom of his heel to the ball of his foot, wiggling it for extra effect. “Coochie-coochie-coo, Zu-Zu! Doesn’t that tickle so much? It’s okay—laugh all you want! It’s not like you can make yourself stop.” 

Aang snickered as Zuko’s ears turned a shade pinker. “Wait ‘til the whole world finds out how adorable the Fire Nation prince is when you tickle him!” he said, flitting the feather below his belly button, tickling the skin along his waistline. Based on the way bucked and yelped, he was exploring an extremely sensitive spot. But to be fair, there didn’t seem to be a lot of places on Zuko that weren't extremely sensitive.

The kids giggled in unison with the hapless prince, the joy on their faces making Iroh’s heart soft. As he watched his helpless nephew get teased and tickled out of his mind, he wished he could snapshot this moment in his memories and save it forever. Seeing the five of them laughing and goofing off together just seemed right, even if it was at Zuko’s expense. How he hoped Zuko’s time with these selfless children had changed him in some way, however small, for the better—offering him the chance to seize a new outlook on his life and his destiny. Iroh sensed the prince’s future was intertwined with the avatar’s, just not in the way he’d always imagined. Perhaps this could be his first step toward that realization.

Meanwhile, Zuko was in giggly shambles. He couldn’t handle another second of this teasy, feathery torment. He’d sworn they wouldn’t get him to beg, but that was the only way out of this he had left in his arsenal. He doubted it would work; it would probably just give them more fuel for their ‘let’s humiliate Zuko’ party. But he was out of options, and his head was starting to spin, and Uncle obviously wasn’t going to save him. He had to try.

“Ohokay!” he cried, breathless and defeated. He barely had the energy to twitch anymore; he was basically just lying there and taking it, tears glinting in the corners of his eyes. “Pleehease—please stahap! I cahan’t… m’g-gehetting…dihizzy…”

Iroh stepped forward to say something, but thankfully, he didn’t have to. All of them immediately stopped tickling Zuko, dropping their arms to their sides and watching the firebender sag with relief, airy giggles still slipping from lips as he fought to catch his breath.

“Gah...heh...uhugh…” He hung his head low, panting lightly. Even though the feathers were no longer tickling him, his skin itched and tingled in all the places they’d perused, and bubbly butterflies continued to dance in his belly. He was also mortified to his core, and probably would be for the rest of his existence, which wasn’t great. He couldn’t wipe the goofy smile off his face just yet. “Myhy…sihides…” he whined. 

“See? All you had to do was ask nicely,” Toph said, grinning.

“Poor Zuko,” Sokka cooed, poking one of his bright red cheeks. “I’ve never seen anyone blush so much for so long before.”

He lolled out of his reach skittishly, fuming with embarrassment. “Stohop,” he whimpered. “Y-you’re all...psyhychos…”

Aang giggled with his hands on his hips. “We really got you good, huh? It was nice to see you look so happy for once. Maybe all that laughing will help you recover faster!” 

“If the laughing doesn’t help, hopefully my healing will,” Katara said, holding up her glowing palm. Zuko winced.

“Ugh...pleehease tell me you’re done with that,” he said weakly. Katara chuckled. 

“What, healing your foot?” she asked. She dragged one finger up the side of his arch. “Oh, yeah. I finished that, like, eight minutes ago.”

A startled giggle leapt from Zuko’s throat, making the four friends cackle and the prince’s ears burn. The moment they settled down, Zuko's stomach let loose a pitiful roar, causing them to crack up all over again.

“Oh man! You still haven’t eaten yet, have you?” Aang poked at his rumbling belly, making Zuko squirm and squeak. “Aw! You’ve got to be totally wiped! That was mean of us. We should’ve fed you first.”

“Quihit messing with me!” Zuko snapped, twitching and snickering beneath the avatar’s tasering fingertips. “Just...lehet me go already!”

“Are you going to attack us if we do?” Sokka asked dubiously. “You did say you were going to kill us before. Like, a lot.”

“Ihi’m seriously considering it!” he growled between giggles. “It’s whahat you deserve!”

Aang clicked his tongue in disapproval. “You might want to rethink your answer on that, your highness.” He sat beside the fettered prince and reached around his back, curling his hands around his tummy, grinning mischievously. “Because if you don’t promise you aren’t gonna hurt any of us after we let you go, I’m not going to stop doing this.”

To Zuko’s horror, the avatar started squeezing both sides of his bare torso, drilling his fingers deep into his flesh, jumping between his hips, his belly, his ribs, his pits, holding absolutely nothing back. Zuko jolted and shrieked, twisting and bucking uselessly, his laughter shooting to an entirely new octave of hysterical.

“AHAHAHAHAAA!” he screeched. “GAHA—S-STAHAHAHAP! IHIHEEHEEHAHAHAGH!”

“Whoa,” Toph whistled. “That’s new.”

“Let’s try again,” Aang said, feigning innocence. “Are you going to attack us once we release you, Prince Zuko?” He needled between each individual rib bone with deadly precision, then burrowed into the dips of the firebender’s hips. 

Zuko thrashed and hiccuped, frantically trying to get the words out between bouts of wild cackling. “NOHOHAHAHAY—I WOHON’T! AHAHAHAY PRAHAHAMISE!” He didn’t think anything could ever tickle as badly as Aang’s ten fingers digging into his upper body did at that moment. The fact he couldn’t do anything to guard himself or wiggle away made it so unimaginably worse than any other time he’d been tickled. As carefree and goofy the twelve-year-old avatar could be, this was downright cruel. He was certain he would die if he didn’t stop. Laughter erupted from the teen like adorable, desperate lava. “PLEEHEEHEASE—NOHO—MOHOHOREHAHA!”

“That’s more like it!” Aang said jubilantly. He lifted his hands off the prince’s tummy and floated to his feet, grinning with triumph. “You can let him go now, Toph.”

Toph punched her fists toward the ground, and the rock restraints retracted from his ankles. A second later, she pounded her heel against the earth, freeing his arms from the wall. Zuko celebrated his newfound freedom by immediately shrinking into a tiny ball, hugging himself around the middle with his knees pulled to his chest, giggling dazedly as he fought to tame his breathing. The others watched him with smiles on their faces. They couldn’t help but be endeared.

“Are you all right, Prince Zuko?” Iroh eventually asked, crossing the room to kneel beside him. He laid a hand on his shoulder, which was beginning to bounce less and less. 

“Myhy everything hurts…” he wheezed, but the smile refused to leave lips. He looked up at Iroh, woozy and flushed. “Why didn’t you...hehelp me…?”

Iroh smiled and wrapped him into a hug. Zuko groaned into his shirt but didn’t have the strength to pull away. 

“I’m sorry,” Uncle said, rubbing his back. “But you know how much I love hearing you laugh. When Azula’s struck you, I thought I might never get to hear it again.” He squeezed him a little tighter. “Seeing you happy fills me with so much joy. I try to soak it in every time I get the chance.”

“I’m nohot happy,” he grumbled, voice muffled by the fabric. Iroh chuckled.

“I know you’re not,” he said, giving his side a gentle pinch. “But I hope one day you will be, so I can hear you laugh without resorting to this.”

Zuko flinched and squeaked, shoving him away with as much muscle as he could muster. “Ahack! Uncle!” He clamped his palms over his sides, blushing furiously. “Ehenough! I am so done with all of you!” He pouted at the ground, shoulders hunched, ears pink with embarrassment. “Just...leave me alone...” 

“Sorry, Zuko,” Katara giggled. “We may have gone a little overboard. We’ve just never seen that side of you before. It was sweet.”

Zuko didn’t feel like acknowledging or interacting with any of them right now—maybe for the rest of time. He was too flustered and humiliated by what had just transpired to even begin to decide how to handle it. The sound of his laughter blared shrilly in the back of his mind, mortifying him to no end. Even after being tickled by Uncle not too long ago, he could still hardly believe how loud and hysterical his own laughter could get—that that silly, squeaky noise he was hearing was somehow coming from his own body. It was as if he was possessed by some girly-voiced ghost every time someone tickled him. It was relentlessly embarrassing. 

“Don’t feel bad,” Toph said, swiping her arms toward her feet. Two hands made of earth stretched down from the roof and grabbed hold of Sokka and Aang’s wrists, hoisting them over their heads.  

“Hey!” Aang cried.

“What the—?”

Toph stepped between the boys and tickled their exposed sides, making both of them squirm and laugh shrilly. “They act all high and mighty now, but they’re just as ticklish as you are.”

“Ehahaha! Tohoph!” Aang squealed.

“GAHAHASTAHAHAPIT!” Sokka shrieked, flailing around like a beached elephant coy. 

“Or perhaps even more so,” Toph corrected herself smugly. She released them from her hold and shoved them both aside. They staggered in opposite directions, blushing deeply and thoroughly chagrined. 

Zuko stared between the avatar and the Water Tribe boy. He had to admit, seeing them flustered did make him feel slightly better about this entire nightmarish affair. It also helped that he’d finally caught his breath and was no longer bubbling with giggles. He decided if he had to pick someone in their group to hate the least, it was Toph. Even if she kind of terrified him.

She scooped one of their bags of provisions off the floor and tossed it into Zuko’s lap. “Here—eat,” Toph said. “The sound of your stomach growling is driving me insane.”

Zuko flinched in surprise and eyed the offering warily. He dug around inside and found some bread, a couple strips of salmon jerky, and a weird, round fruit he didn’t recognize. His mouth watered at the prospect of finally getting to eat without yesterday's queasiness holding him back. 

“What’s this?” he asked, holding up the fruit skeptically. 

“Honey plum,” Toph answered. “Have you never had one before? They only grow in the southern Earth Kingdom.”

Zuko shook his head. Iroh plucked it out of his hand with a grin.

“A honey plum! What a treat! These are delicious, Prince Zuko. You must try it.”

He handed it back to him excitedly. Zuko frowned at the bluish-purple fruit before taking a hesitant bite. As he chewed, a sparkle of surprise touched his golden eyes.

“Wow,” he said, swallowing. “That is really good.” He bit into it again, this time with far less reluctance, munching eagerly to qualm his ravenous hunger. It was sweet and juicy, the swirl of bright flavors bursting like firecrackers on his tongue. He was so focused on feeding the monster in his gut, he didn’t look up for a while. But when he did, he was startled to find everyone staring at him.

“Why are all of you...watching me?” he mumbled over his mouthful, shrinking uncomfortably. “I feel like some kind of zoo animal.”

“No reason,” Aang said, grinning. “We’re just happy you like it!”

“You eat like Sokka at the Glacial Spirits Festival,” Katara giggled. “I expected the Fire Nation prince’s manners to be a tad more dignified.”

Warmth rushed back into the firebender’s cheeks. “I’m hungry!” he retorted defensively. “I haven’t eaten in almost a day and a half! What do you want me to do—stick out my pinky and curtsy with every bite?”

“Yes,” Sokka said enthusiastically. “Absolutely yes.”

Zuko huffed, nibbling at the plum self-consciously. “Why do you people insist on making me feel weird about everything I do?”

“Cuz it’s fun,” Toph snickered. “You’re so easy to fluster.”

Zuko bristled. “No I’m not!”

Katara tapped her chin in thought. “When you say ‘weird,’ do you mean the normal definition of weird, or do you mean your definition of weird, which is that something tickles?”

The prince reddened and avoided their gazes, knowing there was no answer to that question that worked in his favor. 

“See? Like that,” Toph laughed, noting the spike in his heart rate. Zuko crossed his arms and stared sideways, hating having all their attention focused on his blushing self for so long. 

“Don’t feel weird,” Aang insisted, cramming a handful of berries in his mouth. “Eat as much as you like—and as messily as you like! You deserve to porcupig out a little.”

“I’m sure he’s just tickled by our kindness and hospitality,” Sokka said, wiggling his feather at him teasingly.

Zuko grimaced and jabbed two fingers forward. In a puff of flame, Sokka’s feather disintegrated in his hand, making him gawk.

“Hey! No fair!”

Katara watched her brother mourn the loss of his new weapon amusedly, then stepped toward the skittish firebender. “Come on,” she said, offering him a hand. “Let’s see if you can walk any better after your healing session.”

Zuko glanced between her palm and her face uncertainly before accepting her help, letting the waterbender pull him to his feet. Iroh stood with him, holding out his hands in case he fell. 

The prince wobbled a little once he was upright but didn’t need anyone’s support to stay that way. He flexed and stamped his left foot, delighted by the lack of pain that followed.

“It’s better,” he said, pleasantly surprised. “A lot better.” He braved a couple steps forward. He still had a limp, but he could finally walk on his own again, if only for a little while. 

“Good,” Katara said. “I can heal you again if anything starts hurting badly, but you mostly need lots of rest.”

He met her gaze gingerly. He didn’t want to say it, but he felt like he had to. “Thank you,” he murmured, the words grating his throat as they left his lips.

The girl smiled and nodded. Toph pounded her foot into the ground, making the tent collapse around them and sink back into the earth, startling Zuko tremendously. 

“I’m hungry too now,” she announced, lifting their campfire off the ground and placing it in the center of their group with earthbending. She snatched the bag of berries from Aang and gobbled down the rest. “Iroh, would you mind making us some more of that jasmine tea?”

Iroh beamed. “Yes! Of course!” He ran and grabbed his pot and the leaves. “Tea always tastes better when it is brewed and shared with others.”

While Zuko watched his uncle enter his tea-making trance, Toph grabbed the honey plum from his hand and shoved it in his mouth, making the firebender grunt in muffled surprise. “Eat, Princey,” she snapped. “Food doesn’t last long around here. Take what you can get before someone else horks it down.”

Zuko pulled the plum out of his mouth and chewed sourly. He hadn’t realized just how tiny the earthbender was until now, when he was standing over her, practically craning his neck to look her in the eye. 

And suddenly, everyone was settling down around the fire, taking and eating and acting like this whole bizarre situation was perfectly normal. At least he wasn’t the center of attention anymore, though it felt like he should be; they were being far too trusting, letting him stand so close so freely now that he had some of his strength back. He swept his gaze around the circle with a puzzled frown. Hesitantly, Zuko sat among them, listening to the criss-crossing conversations as he finished off the honey plum and started in on the bread. 

“When do we start my earthbending training?”

“You sure you’re ready, Twinkle Toes? Being an earthbender takes guts and grit like you’ve never seen.”

“Definitely!”

“Pass me some of that sun melon, Sokka. Momo’s getting fussy.”

“Sure. Here, Zuko—have some too.”

Sokka casually handed Zuko a slice before giving the rest to Katara. Zuko took it reluctantly, gave it a sniff, then munched on the fruit, glancing warily between the others, feeling odd and out of place, like an unacknowledged elephant rhino in the room. 

But also...strangely content. 

As he tended to the tea, Iroh watched his nephew with a small smile. He wished Zuko could see how well he fit with these kids rather than in a toxic palace in the Fire Nation capital. He wished he could see how relaxed he looked here versus how tense he was beneath the scrutinizing gazes of Azula and his father. He wished he could stay with them, reject the false path Ozai had set him on, and find his own destiny with these kind, goofy children.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You must leave tonight—all of you.”

The four friends stood before the old man in disbelief, the setting sun reflecting in their wide eyes. Behind them, Zuko slept by the fire, his back rising and falling steadily.

“Leave?” Aang said, blinking. “What for?”

“What’s going on?” Toph asked.

Iroh bowed his head, his voice grim. “Now that he is getting better, there’s a possibility my nephew may try to pull something unfavorable against you and your friends. I want you all gone before he gets the chance.”

Katara took a step back, her eyes clouding over with rage. “What? Did he tell you he was planning something?”

“No,” Iroh insisted. “He hasn’t mentioned anything like that.” A grimace gnarled his features. “But I know my nephew. He needs more time before he is ready to fully realize his destiny. He is still extremely lost, hurt, and confused, and I do not want any of you to suffer because of it.” He sighed softly. “I don’t believe he will try anything, but...I’m not willing to risk it. Not after everything you’ve done for us.”

Sokka eyed Zuko’s slumbering form, then turned back to Iroh. “So...we should just...go? Right now?”

The old man nodded somberly. “I think that would be best.”

“But what if he needs more healing sessions?” Katara asked. “He’s still really weak.”

“I can take care of him,” Iroh said, his expression softening. “I’ve done it before. I am more than capable of doing it again.”

Toph shifted her weight between her feet. “He’ll be upset when he finds out we’re gone.” 

Perhaps in more ways than one, she considered. They had only just begun to peel back the layers of the person they knew as Zuko, peering into the heart of the troubled but not entirely unsalvageable individual he was. Leaving now felt like dumping all of that progress down the drain, reverting back to their old shtick of pursuer and prey. Oddly enough, it almost felt...treacherous. 

The old man hinted a smile. “He will be okay. Do not worry yourselves for my nephew’s sake. You have all already helped both of us more than we deserve.” He bowed respectfully, his hands clasped inside his sleeves. “Good luck on your journey, young avatar. May the spirits guide you and your friends. I sincerely hope we meet again soon, under more desirable circumstances.”

Aang hesitated for a moment before bowing back. He didn’t know how Zuko would react if they told him beforehand that they were leaving. Probably not favorably. Still, it felt strange, abandoning the two of them without a proper goodbye. 

“I hope so too,” he said. He raised his head and met Iroh’s gaze. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Iroh glanced over his shoulder. “I’m lucky to have him, too,” he said. Icy sadness tugged at his chest. He fought not to let it bleed across his face. 

“Keep trying to, I don’t know, ‘lead him into the light’ or whatever.” Sokka shrugged. “For what it’s worth, I have way more faith in him than I do Azula.”

The old man shuddered. “Me too,” he breathed.

Katara stared at her feet. “I hope...he changes,” she managed to say, looking awkward and conflicted.

Iroh nodded once, his expression warm. “He will,” he said. Then he exhaled slowly. “Go. I wish each of you the best this world has to offer.”

The four kids smiled sullenly, then dispersed to pack their things. They left on Appa thirty minutes later, the two firebenders shrinking smaller and smaller before vanishing behind the horizon, a collective ache hanging over them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You let them go?”

Iroh sat by the edge of the river, legs crossed with a cup of tea in his hand. Zuko stood over him, boiling with anger.

“I did not ‘let them go,’ Iroh assured him, breathing in the dewey morning aromas. “They were here when I went to bed. When I woke up, they were gone.”

It wasn’t lying, technically. Just strategic withholding of information. Zuko groaned in frustration.

“I can’t believe this!” he yelled, stomping in circles. “Why would they just leave like that?”

Uncle sipped his tea calmly. “Why wouldn’t they? They healed you, fed you, gave you a place to sleep. Now that you are doing better, there was no reason for them to stick around.” 

Zuko buried his face in his hands. “The avatar was sleeping right next to us! We could’ve captured him and dragged him off without any of them noticing!”

“Another valid reason for them to leave,” Iroh pointed out. “I’m sure they feared you would try something like that, even after they saved your life.” He sighed contently. “We’re lucky they simply left us in peace, rather than taking us prisoner.”

He hated how well his uncle was taking all of this—and how accurate all of his rebuttals were. Zuko kicked a pine cone into the river. 

“It could take weeks to track them down again! Ugh!” He sunk to the ground, griping and grumbling incoherently. 

“I am surprised you are so shocked that they left,” Iroh said, raising an eyebrow. “We are still their enemies, after all. They never had an obligation to help us in the first place. What reason would they have to stay with us after they healed you?”

To be honest, Zuko wasn’t sure why he was so stunned by it, either. Of course they had left. That was the smart thing to do. If he were in their position, he wouldn’t have stayed, either. Now that he could walk, he was capable of committing all kinds of malicious crimes against them—as he’d done many, many times in the past. 

But the weird thing was, he hadn’t planned to do anything like that.

At first, sure, maybe. When he was hurting all over and seething with anger and resentment. But after speaking with each of them, forming those little connections he never thought possible, things had changed. His usual appetite for causing them pain had gradually dwindled away. Capturing the avatar and hauling him back to his father was starting to sound more like an unsavory obligation rather than something he actually wanted to do. 

He was still mad at them for that mortifying stunt they pulled in the tent yesterday, but not in the way he expected. It was beginning to feel more like a “you got me, now I’ve got to get you back” kind of mad—the innocent, playful kind he and Azula had for each other whenever they pranked one another as kids. Now, he would never get the chance. 

“I guess there is no reason,” Zuko admitted bitterly, hugging his knees. “I’m just...frustrated.”

“It’s okay to be angry,” Uncle said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “But it’s important that you recognize why you’re angry, because I don’t think the reason is what you believe it to be.”

Zuko eyed him suspiciously. “What are you talking about?”

Uncle’s hand moved to his back, steadying him in the comforting way it had done a thousand times. “Why are you upset they left, Prince Zuko?”

The young firebender frowned. He didn’t know why Uncle was asking him this—the answer was obvious.

“Because now I have to find them again to capture the avatar,” he said, although it sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

Iroh hummed thoughtfully. “That’s it? No other reason?”

“What other reason would there be?” Zuko shot back. 

Uncle stirred his tea, the spoon clinking against the sides of the cup. “They were kind to you. Rather than ignoring you or berating you, they chose to interact with you in a warm, friendly manner. They didn’t treat you like a dangerous Fire Nation soldier; they saw you as a person who needed their help. They are all very good people.”

Zuko scoffed. “They were not kind to me. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You have rarely ever been around kids your age outside of the Fire Nation—especially ones that care so openly about one another.” He sipped his drink and stared across the river. “You fit in well among them.”

“What are you trying to say?” Zuko snapped, feeling hot and nervous and furious all at once. “That I miss them? That I want to be friends with the avatar and his obnoxious cronies? You’re insane, Uncle. I—I hate them! They’re the most insufferable people in the entire world! And my enemies!”

Iroh didn’t react to his tirade. He simply laid his hand on his nephew’s head, scratching at his short, fuzzy hair. Zuko went stiff, startled by the affectionate contact, debating whether or not to jerk away. He hated to admit it, but it felt...nice.

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to befriend good people, regardless of your past or theirs. Not everything is as rigid and definite as you might think.”

Zuko blinked. His entrails felt like a bundle of knots. His throat grew sore and tight. The ache inside him was sickening familiar, and he hated himself for feeling it in this situation. He tried to will it away, to loathe it out of existence. But it was there, cold and stinging.

The pain of being left. 

He hadn’t had a head of hair to pet since he was thirteen. All Zuko wanted was to lean into Uncle’s touch and let him scratch his scalp forever. Instead, he ducked out of Iroh’s reach, clambering to his feet. 

“You’ve officially lost your mind,” he growled, running his fingers through his hair irritably. Uncle stood by his side, a somber smile on his face. His nephew’s walls held strong, but they were weakening every day. He still needed more time, more patience, but the old man had hope.

“Come, Prince Zuko,” he said. “Now that you’re feeling better, it is time to resume your firebending training.”

Zuko turned to face him, his scowl melting into a look of excitement. “Wait—really?”

Iroh nodded. “It is time you moved on to the advanced set, and learned how to defend yourself against people like Azula.” He assumed a steady stance and pointed two fingers toward the sky. “Do this motion with me.”

The prince stepped in front of him and mirrored his movements. He still couldn’t fully extend his left arm, but he tried his best to copy Uncle’s form. “What are you going to show me?” he asked eagerly.

Iroh grinned. “A firebending technique that I developed by studying waterbenders, one that neither Azula, Ozai, or any other firebender except me can do.” His eyes twinkled defiantly. “How to redirect lightning.”

[decalinethespacecat]

The Games that We Play-Ch.1

A simple exploration.

That's all this mission was supposed to entail.

Well, in a sense, perhaps they had accomplished such. Stranded on a new, foreign world, brimming with energy, and teeming with organic life. And with that, it was the very life that they had been forced to alter themselves to, the very lifeblood that dwelt on this strange sphere in too great an excess, and thus, should they not adhere to the laws set by this new world, it could mean the loss of their functionality, or even more, their own sparks. Of course, ironically enough, it hadn't just been themselves that had to follow this code: the very ones that had caused their stranding here had also been subject to it. And even more, one amongst their former pursuers had, albeit forcibly at first, integrated amongst their numbers. Now, as the two parties faced each other atop this mountain, five against five, the playing field had been leveled.

The two heads of the opposing sides made direct eye contact with each other, the differences between them evident in far more than just their conflicting ideals and ambitions. On one side stood the stalwart, strong form of a darkly furred primate, leaning on his knuckles as the species he had scanned were inclined to do. His eyes were dark, yet soulful, and in the minds of some of his fellow explorers, dare they say, they appeared almost akin to the small creatures that had aided and catered to their ancestors. On the other was, for all intents and purposes, a complete antithesis of everything the primate was. He bore the outer flesh of a large theropod coated in a sheen of violet with a series of green ridges trailing along his back, ending at the base of his tail. Rows of sharpened, ivory teeth lined the inside of his powerful jaws, small, yet menacing red eyes full of intent glowering back at the primate opposite of him.

"Across the galaxy," the ancient reptile spoke, voice low and smooth. "It has come to this, Optimus Primal." The primate stood his ground, along with the other four organically based Cybertronians with him. "Face to face," a smile crept onto the theropod's features. "Tooth to claw...yesss." Oh yes indeed, he had been clamoring for this very moment! "Have you anything to say?"

The primate's face grew stern. True, he had not set out on this expedition with the intent to seek combat. Yet ultimately, Primus, it seemed, held other plans for them. "I'd say, that's prime." he simply stated before bearing his elongated canines. "Let's do it!"

...

"YEAHHHH!" a chorus of young voices cried out, five to be exact, as they charged in unison at a collection of five pieces of notebook paper held up by a used popsicle stick glued onto the back, each of them stuck into the ground so they would stay in place. The owners of the voices came forward and did 'battle' with the pieces of cut-out paper, lightly striking and flicking the fragile, crudely drawn depictions of their current 'adversaries'.

This was the third time they needed to be redrawn, and frankly, no one was wanting to have to do all five Predacons all over again. Especially if one of them was a young adolescent with questionable drawing skills. If anything, at least they LOOKED like how they were supposed to this time. Sort of.

One amongst the five, a boy with tannish skin and a darkly colored buzz cut, grabbed the cutout of Megatron (at least, it was supposed to be Megatron) and purposefully fell to the ground, bringing the piece of colored paper on a stick close to his face, raising one hand to keep it back, as if it weighed a good deal of weight.

...

The jaws were close. So insultingly close. Just a few centimeters more, and that slagging ape's head would be firmly in his jaws! "Admit defeat, Maximal!" Megatron bellowed, Primal not wavering, yet it was evident that he was struggling against the Tyrannosaurus' massive head. "The Energon shall be ours!"

The silverback needed to act fast. He held no intention of obeying the violet Predacon's demand, yet he needed some leeway. He needed to at least get the larger beast off of him! "Not if I can help it!"

...

"Yah!" the tan boy hollered, behaving as if he had just flung a two-ton boulder off of him, yet the paper cutout landed in the grass with little more than a soft crinkle. "Surrender, Megatron!" he proclaimed, his voice far from the authoritative, triumphant Maximal he was imitating. "You're scrapped!"

'Megatron didn't retort back, the boy realizing then what kind of corner he had just put himself in.

"Uh, guys?" he called out, the other four children ceasing their 'battle' against their respective Predacons and turning towards him. "Who's not fighting at this part?"

One boy amongst them, African and with a top of short, black curls, turned to him. "They all are!" he answered back.

"Yeah, but who's being shown fighting?"

"Uh…" the other boy paused, thinking for a moment. "I think it's just Optimus and Megatron."

"Ok." the tan boy went over to pick up the Megatron cutout, his dark eyes taking notice of a nearby tree. "You mind? I can't really chase myself."

...

The impact was immediate, and even if it had been mere seconds, the shock that came with the splintering rock formation behind them both clearly affected Primal more than his adversary.

A fact that they wasted no time in taking advantage of.

With one swift, precise bite, Megatron put the jaws of the mighty beast he had donned as his alternate form to proper use, the premaxillary teeth that once belonged to the likes of the extinct predator tore through the alpha primate's thigh, right above the joint. Primal released an involuntary wail of agony, the sharpened instruments having torn through his alt mode's synthetic flesh and down to the fragile circuitry and wiring underneath. Not feeling satisfied with just one sample of the Maximal's mech fluid lightly bathing his tongue, Megatron bit yet again, only this time, Primal seemed to have better prepared for it. He was still in a great deal of pain, yes, yet now he could better channel it, using the horrid sensations and transferring it into an unquenchable need to fight back, beginning with delivering a hardened chop with both hands to the top of Megatron's scaly dome.

This blow had put the behemoth reptile in the same position Optimus had been mere seconds prior. And due to the blow he had delivered, it took the Tyrannosaurus a moment to realize that, surprisingly enough, the foolish ape had somehow found it in him to up and began swinging him around by the tail! As soon as the world had begun spinning for him, it stopped, only to then realize he was flying right into the ceiling of the mountainous structure, crashing down with a resounding thud that shook the entire landscape.

"Gah!" Optimus cried out, hissing as he analyzed the injury done to his leg. True, he had managed to stand to deliver that rather 'creative' maneuver against his aggressor, yet it now dawned on him that there was no way he could walk with a tear like this. And internalized repairs wouldn't be able to undo damage such as this. As if to add insult to injury (literally in a sense), the reptile had somehow managed to get up. "It…" Optimus stammered, forcing himself to rise. "It's over, Megatron!"

"It is NEVER over! Nooo!" He could scarcely believe it at first, yet given how the brute's forces traveled all this way to engage them, perhaps anything was possible. After all, what other Cybertronian before them had been forced to adopt a secondary skin of organic flesh? Despite the painful surges the multiple Energon crystals sent through his true form, Megatron did not waver, aiming and sending a missile right in the direction of the wounded Primal. "For if I must die...I shall take you with me!"

There was no way he could avoid this. Its proximity was too close. The urge to flee was great, yet Primal stood firm. He would stand tall and accept this. He had begun to shut his eyes, awaiting the inevitable. 'Till all are one…'

Yet one, he was not yet to be.

The missile had never come to meet him.

...

"Wait, you want me to do what?" one amongst the group questioned with a quirked brow, this time the child, despite the role, a young girl with skin slightly darker than the boy roleplaying as Primal, her thick, black hair tied back in a low ponytail. In her hands was a wooden sword, one that she had made sure to bring each and every time she met with the others. Yet now, the African boy was asking her to do something a little...odd with it.

"Well, in the episode, Dinobot blocks it with his tail."

"So, what? You want me to put this on my butt?"

"Uh...well, it'd be accurate."

It sounded absurd, not to mention difficult to pull off. Sure, she didn't really know how to properly use the sword, yet at least she could make use of it as something of an improv baseball bat. But nooooo, when she batted the "missile" away like that, they had to stop so that they could do it 'the right way'.

"Fine." she moaned, rolling her eyes and tossing the crumpled piece of paper (Waspinator got stepped on, AGAIN) in the African boy's direction. "Throw it again."

...

The one that had once been under Megatron's command, the one that had blocked their way and saw fit to end his life on the stone bridge, allowing the Predacons to catch up with them, had just been the one to strike the incoming projectile with his striped, reptilian tail, sending it off course and away from them both.

The former Predacon and his would-be usurper had just miraculously saved him from certain death.

This revelation was given no time to truly be dwelt on at the present, for the missile had found itself a new target, the explosion sending a chain reaction that soon caused the entire mountain to shake.

"It's going to blow!" a brown rhinoceros bellowed, the once battling Predacons quickly realizing the danger they were all in and making a hasty retreat, leaving their downed leader behind.

"Time to fade, heroes!" one amongst the Maximals shouted, a green-eyed cheetah, he making himself scarce along with Primal and the rhino, a large, grey rat also atop of the horned creature's back, a velociraptor racing alongside with them off of the mountain. None dare to look back, lest they waste precious seconds before the entire formation exploded.

Thankfully, they thought as they now found themselves a good distance away, all of them had managed to make it out of that close call in one piece. All four...no, all five of them.

Optimus turned his gaze towards the newest member of their group, his pale eyes gazing back into the silverback's own. "Thanks." he simply stated, the ancient reptile somewhat taken aback by this gesture.

"My actions did not imply loyalty, Optimus." the striped theropod clarified, momentarily averting his gaze, his voice low and raspy, yet strangely enough, sincere. "I owe you my life." He admitted the act, even if he dare not openly say it, was rather humbling. "Now we are merely...even."

The silverback took no offense to this. In fact, to the raptor's befuddlement, he simply presented him with a satisfied grin. "I'll accept that."

"Yeah, well, uh.." The rat, having long gotten off the rhino's back, wasn't exactly ready to allow this saurian into their ranks, no matter what Optimus declared. Orders or not, he'd make his opinion on "Chopperface", or rather, "Choppahface", known for a long while. Still, there was a burning question on his mind. "At least Megatron's gone, and so is the Energon!" he declared, voice rising in hope. "Can we go home now?"

It was too good to be true. The shaking of his leader's head cemented this fact. "No, Rattrap." the gorilla solemnly stated. "For now, we're stranded here with the Predacons on this unknown planet." the situation sunk in for all of them now, truly. "Megatron may be back, and there is still more Energon. If they ever get enough, they could conquer the galaxy." he could see the trepidation etched into their features. Indeed, he would be a liar if he said he did not share in their collective concern. Still...there was no other way. Their opposition had to be stopped. And whether it be here, Earth, or even Cybertron, his conviction would have remained the same. "So for now," he began, looking towards the endless, blue horizon above. "Let the battle be here, on this strange, primitive world. And let it be called," he shouted, extending his fist towards the skies. "The Beast Wars!"

...

"YEAH!" The five shouted in chorus, full of nothing short of absolute triumph and exhilaration, the sight of the untamed, unconquered canyon and mountainous landscape the Maximals stood upon at the forefront of their mind's eye.

Of course, after a few moments of this, said landscape steadily began to fade, the mowed, fertile, green lawn of the African boy's yard coming to consume the place stationed in their imaginations.

"Uh, ok." a voice amongst them spoke, said voice belonging to another girl in the group, though contrary to the other young lady with them, she bore lighter skin and a head of long, red locks. "So...do we go over the toy fund now or later?"

"I think we've got a more immediate problem than that." the African boy said, picking up the crumpled-up piece of paper. "Somebody's got to redraw Waspinator. Again."

The skies had darkened, the sun just beginning to set. Yet in the small, packed enclosure of the cubical-shaped treehouse, none of the five children paid any mind, a serious and passionate debate taking place amongst them.

"No way! I did it last week! It's Tim's turn!" a blonde boy with scruffy hair protested, crossing his arms.

"Last time I checked," the African boy clarified, gesturing an accusing finger back at the blonde. "You only did it last week because you skipped out on the last time it was your turn."

"Hey, I was sick that week!" he protested.

"Yeah, that was boring." The black-haired girl admitted. "I was tired of acting out that episode where Cheetor got kidnapped by Tarantulas."

"You got tired?" another girl questioned, she of lighter skin and a head of fiery red hair, even if her voice was meek and smooth. "I had to make sure the cutout we made didn't get too messed up."

"At least Rattrap got to do stuff in that episode!' the other girl retorted, looking to her wooden sword. "Dinobot was barely in that one!"

"And we can only do so many with just five of us!" the blonde added in. "Soon, it's going to get to where we're going to have to start making up our own episodes!"

"Ok, look!" the tan boy interjected, the other four quieting down. "We're getting off track. The point is that Waspinator got messed up, again, and somebody's got to make another cutout-"

"Again." the other children finished for him, he somewhat startled by how quickly they picked up on what he was about to say.

"Right, so one of us is going to have to do it. But we've got to find out who's turn it is to make a new one-"

"Timothy Leblanc!" each and every one of the five adolescents jumped at the voice piercing through their private space up in the crudely constructed, yet still standing treehouse. And whilst the feminine, rather irritable voice called out for just one of them, each didn't need to ask what this also meant for them. "It's thirty minutes past five now, and you're STILL up there?! Your father's going to get here in less than five, and your dinner's had to be heated up twice already!"

The African boy winced, looking at his friends with a rather sheepish expression. "I've got to probably get going too." the red-haired girl confessed.

"Me too." the blonde added. "Mom's going to kill me if I don't do the dishwasher before the day's done."

"And my mom wants me to help her with the...the…" the black-haired girl paused. "I think she called it a…bistek tagalog?"

"A what?" Tim questioned.

"Your mom always makes the weirdest stuff." the blonde added.

"Whatever it is, she wants me to help mix the sauce and put the onions in."

"So, who's going to redraw…" the tan boy began, only to find that all eyes were on him.

A few hours later

"Thanks a lot!"

"Yeah, totally!"

"You're always so thoughtful!"

"Yeah, the best!"

Even now, he was STILL seething mad at all of them.

True, there really wasn't a rush, and he could probably get it done during study hall tomorrow, but still, once again, he had been sacked with the task of redrawing Predacons (correction: one particular Predacon) AGAIN, when the rest of them knew well and good that it was someone else's turn! Still, in a way, he sort of knew why he got this particular task the most, mainly because he was the only one that could actually make them LOOK sort of accurate. As accurate as a fourth grader that had a decent enough grade in Art could get.

'Yeah, well, let's see them when we act out 'Starscream's Ghost'!' the boy thought, scribbling a green crayon in the thick pencil lines that made up Waspinator's outline. 'I'll be Waspinator on that one! And...oh wait, no.' he just remembered. 'We don't have anyone that can be Tigetron or Airazor.' let alone did they have anyone that could've filled in the role of Blackarachnia or Inferno.

'And we can only do so many with just five of us!' the blonde boy's words echoed in his mind.. 'Soon, it's going to get where we're going to have to start making up our own episodes!'

"Inuksuk!" a man's voice said from the other side of the door, the young boy ceasing his doodling. "Don't tell me you're still up!" the child inwardly groaned at hearing his full name. Culture and heritage aside, he still hated it. "Have you even brushed your teeth yet, young man?"

Brushed...oh shoot!

The older, far taller adult standing outside of the boy's room was knocked back by the door, quite literally, slamming in his face, a small figure rushing out and into the bathroom. "Well, at least you know to stand out of the way next time." a woman shouted at the bottom of the stairs.

"Y-Yeah...guess so…"

Bathroom

Not so much brushing as he was grinding the bristles in and around his teeth, yet from what he could see in the mirror, his mouth was foamy enough for it to count! Speaking of which, he took a moment to eject said foam from his mouth and into the sink, washing it down and getting out the dental floss, tearing off just enough (just as mom showed him) and tying the ends around his fingers (just as mom showed him, though he struggled more with that particular step). Inuksuk looked good and hard in the mirror at his still growing teeth, a couple of empty spaces from recently pulled ones serving as areas he needed to keep extra clean, this particular tip from his father (of whom he just realized he might've just slammed in the face with a door).

He'd have to apologize when he got out. Assuming he hit him hard.

Still, as the young boy garbed in a simple, grey t-shirt and worn down, dark grey sweatpants navigated the floss through his available teeth, he found one thought running through his mind on repeat as he went on with his (very belated) nightly routine.

"Soon, it's going to get where we're going to have to start making up our own episodes!"

...

"...making up our own episodes!"

Making up their own episodes...hmm.

Perhaps the better term for it would've been 'making up our own stories, as really, how were a bunch of kids going to get ahold of anything better than a handheld camera, let alone, by some miracle, contact Mainframe with a stack of papers detailing these new exploits and adventures of the Maximals?

Still, Tim thought, as he spit out the strong tasting, even stronger stinging Listerine, it could work.

Yeah, they'd have to go through the process of deciding on a plot, a script, who'd be the 'star', all things that, frankly, he would've been more than content to leave for the fine folks who were in charge of the show to decide. But, seeing as it was evident that they'd probably be playing out these reenactments with just five, Timothy couldn't help but entertain the potential Mathis' proposal brought with it. What if, just if, they did go through with it...what could they do? Or perhaps the better question was, what COULDN'T they do?

Oh man, oh geez, oh gosh, oh man! He had just meant it as a way so that they wouldn't have to act out the same stuff over and over again! But thinking about it now...oh geez, he was near slapping himself for not suggesting it earlier!

...

"Mathis, bed!"

"Ok, mom! Just a minute!"

The blonde boy heard the door to his room open, a hand setting itself on his shoulder.

"It's been ten." a low, feminine voice told him. "And unless you want to go through the ritual of me setting the radio on at max volume for you in the morning...and also, did you even brush, let alone take your pills yet-"

"Ok, fine." Mathis groaned, getting up from the dining room table and to the foot of the stairs.

"Clean up first."

He turned back to face his mother, she bearing his blonde locks, yet not his chocolate brown eyes. "But didn't you just say-"

"It's going to take you five minutes to get all these crayons and pencils up." she answered, a small, curt grin coming to her lips. Once again, she foiled him. As the young boy went back over to the table and began putting the art supplies back in their proper boxes, correctly, as she was watching him, the woman couldn't help but notice what her child had been drawing. "Who's that?" she asked, picking up the piece of lined paper. "One of the characters from that show you and your friends watch? Um…" she tapped her finger on her chin, trying to recall whom exactly her son fawned over. "Cheetara or something?"

"That's Thundercats, mom." Mathis moaned. "It's Cheetor from Beast Wars." well, technically, that wasn't what it was called over here, yet he and his friends were in mutual agreement that 'Beasties' sounded ridiculous, not to mention stupid. Besides, Optimus outright even said that the fight they were in was called the flipping 'Beast Wars'!

"Ah, right. He's the...leopard, right?" This earned the woman another groan. "Kidding, kidding." She scanned the crude markings meant to resemble the computer-generated robot cat (at least she thought that was what he was, she only saw the show in brief intervals), and found a strange, new figure beside him. "Who's this?" she questioned her child, gesturing to the right of (what was supposed to be) Cheetor.

"Oh, that's…" Mathis began to answer, stopping before he could finish. "Well...I don't really know what his name is, but he's somebody I made up."

"Ah, like it's supposed to be you in the show?"

"No, it's not me. It's someone I made up." the boy affirmed. "He's a Saber-toothed Tiger."

(AN-I know it's more accurate to call it a Saber-toothed cat or Smilodon, but being a kid in the 90s, and in general, a kid, everyone I knew, both other kids and adults around me, just called it a Saber-toothed Tiger.)

"Oh, ok. That explains the teeth." his mother nodded.

"Yeah," Mathis confirmed. "There's only five of us, so we only have so many episodes we can act out as the Maximals. So I got to thinking we could maybe make up our own episodes."

"And in turn, make up your own characters?"

"...yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

"Yeah, well," the woman ruffled the younger boy's hair. "You have all the time in the world to do that tomorrow and on the weekend. Right now, everyone, even Saber-toothed Tigers, need to get up into bed. And they definitely need to keep their teeth clean"

"Before they have pills in some ice cream?"

She smiled, going over to the freezer. "I guess that can be arranged. Though, I'm not sure how you could eat anything with chompers like that."

...

'Making up our own episodes…' she wondered, as she climbed on into bed, her long, red locks contrasting greatly with the ivory fabric of her pillow and pale pink of her sheets, as well as a majority of her room, of which followed in a similar color scheme. 'How are we going to do that when we can't even save up enough to get some actual toys?'

Indeed, before the whole discussion involving who was going to be tasked with re-drawing Waspinator, she had collected what everyone had to offer that week to the 'toy-fund'. Inu (of which she and the rest had called Inuksuk, seeing as his name was somewhat difficult to pronounce) was the only one to have actually brought a full dollar along with herself. Everyone else ranged from fifty to no more than five cents.

'Five cents?!' she remembered losing her cool at that. 'Really, Mathis?!'

'Hey, it was hot out!' he in turn retorted to her. 'And Dr. Pepper was RIGHT there in the machine!'

She was still more than a little peeved about it, but ultimately, there was little that could be done now. 'We've gotten up to twenty-five, but if each toy costs around ten dollars, each separate toy, then…' her hand traveled to her forehead, realizing in horror what this meant. 'We're going to have to get around fifty dollars total! And that's not even with tax!' she flopped onto her bed, her red hair fanning out underneath her. 'We're going to be stuck using paper cutouts for the Predacons forever!'

This pessimistic musing, however, was cut off by the cracking of her door, her blue eyes watching as a large, furred, quadrupedal creature squeezed through the opening it had created and made its way to her bedside, sitting on the small, white floor mat stationed beside it.

"Hey, Zoe." The young girl greeted the massive Main Coon, this vocal utterance being all the greyish-brown feline needed to act, hopping on her bed and planting herself at the footboard, curling up and tucking her head under her tail. She folded her hands underneath her head, still more than a little perturbed that it'd be even longer before she and her friends would reach the desired goal of however many dollars before all the Predacons could be purchased. Assuming they would even be able to find any at a Wal-Mart or Toys R' Us. "If anything," she spoke aloud to herself, Mathis' words coming back to her. "Making up our own episodes would probably mean that we'd have to do even MORE work. Because then, we're going to start making up our own Maximals and Predacons!"

...

'Which would be so cool!' The Filipino, black-haired adolescent mentally declared, having been warned already to not be too loud, and that she had school to look forward to in the morning. 'Looking forward to school...yeah, dad, that was a REAL good one.'

'It'll be even better if you get in those eight hours. Now haul yourself up to bed.'

Frankly, she wasn't sure she'd be getting any sleep tonight. Not with this running through her head.

'Like...like there are already characters that are toys that aren't in the show yet! Like Claw Jaw, or Armordillo, Wolfang, and…' as she continued on, listing each and every Maximal and Predacon she had seen on the shelves (Dinobot WOULD be hers! Eventually.), her brown eyes surveyed her environment before she got out of bed and locked the door to her room, then went back to her bed and cut on the lamp stationed on her dresser. She then opened the single drawer on the small, wooden dresser, an even smaller, black notebook, and a single, number-two pencil residing in the compact space, the label 'Lulu' stuck on the cover via a small piece of paper and tape.

'Ok,' she mused to herself, grabbing the two objects and flipping open to a page with just enough room. Then, she began writing. 'Now...there was Claw Jaw, Armordillo, Wolfang…'

...

'...some guy that's a German Shepard...don't know how that happened.' indeed, he didn't, but lo and behold, it WAS indeed a toy. Inu rolled around on his left side. 'Maybe we could start with something a little more simple. Like...like after they left the mountain, they got the ship up and running better.' Despite his eyes being closed, scenarios and 'what ifs' began playing out in his mind. Yeah, that could work. Lulu could maybe play out how Dinobot settled in...and Mikaela could come up with some stuff to throw at her as Rattrap does in the show. Granted, that in itself might've been a little difficult. The Filipino girl could play out her role well enough without much assistance, yet the redhead kind of needed some 'coaching' on how to be snarky. Bizarrely enough, she could channel the rodent-based Maximal quite well whenever the subject of the 'toy fund' was brought up.

Inu continued to ponder and think, drowsiness steadily beginning to creep in, the faces and forms of his small circle of friends steadily transforming into the characters they portrayed in their reenactments.

'Hey.'

Yet...as he drifted off, the smallest bit of his mind that was still conscious noticed that despite the boy himself playing the role, the transformed silverback in his mind seemed to be paying attention to something or someone ahead of him. Something or someone that clearly wasn't present there before, yet he behaved as if they had been there all along.

'Thanks for the help back there.' Inu took a moment. This had to be a dream, yet...he certainly wasn't complaining. 'If it wasn't for you clearing out that path for us, we probably wouldn't have gotten off that mountain at all.'

"Oh, uh, no problem, sir." the young child answered, standing to attention like a soldier, salute and everything. He was far from a Maximal in this developing vision, let alone anything that could've ever had the potential to supposedly clear out a path, yet such details were trivial and minute to him. This was getting good, and he wasn't about to risk spoiling it.

"Despite your size, I'd be more than willing to allow you into our, heh," Primal chuckled, looking at the variety of fauna around him that were his comrades. "Ranks. Besides," he continued, extending one large, darkly colored hand. "I've always been curious about humanity and their culture."

...

Normally he'd totally be against this.

"Ah, here are some nice ones."

Here he was, some kid, in a time where people didn't exist yet, riding upon a talking rhinoceros as if it were the most mundane, normal thing in the world!

"Tim, you mind getting a few samples of these also?"

And even more...he didn't have a single problem with it.

"Sure thing. Just a second.'' The boy addressed both his transportation and 'favorite', hopping down from the Maximal's back and to the fertile, grassy plain below, said plain coincidently teeming with flowering specimens of all kinds. Some of these he had never seen before in his life, let alone in the pages of any book he could potentially check out from the school's library. Thus, he wanted to get the best one. The most fascinating and intriguing, not to mention definitely alien specimen…"Aha!" he cried out, wasting no time in plucking the desired flora from its place and bringing it to the brown rhinoceros. "Here.'' He presented his 'present', a strange, budding thing with fanned-out petals of primary colors.

"Now THAT'S one I might have to keep for myself," Rhinox admitted, the human boy in turn put the flower in a glass compartment he (somehow) had on his person. Dream logic, but he wasn't willing to spoil this. "Truly though, Timothy, sometimes I feel like you, aside from Optimus, are the only ones that can understand and appreciate the majesty of this place."

It was then that the child swore his heart had stopped. True, it probably hadn't, as he certainly didn't feel like he was dying in his sleep, yet to hear those words from the disguised robot, his 'favorite'...well, he was quite ready to go and pick every single thing that was growing in this imaginary field, should the rhino wish it.

...

His two legs carried him forward, the grassy plain and clear, summer sky nothing short of a picturesque perfect day. The slim spotted big cat with vibrant, green eyes that ran beside him was far from allowing the blonde boy to catch up. Far from it.

"Awesome!"

Impossible as it was, Mathis was actually catching up with HIM.

"You're almost as fast as I am!"

"Wait, almost?!"

"Yeah, almost!" With that, Cheetor gave himself a little bit of a boost, propelling forward and leaving the blonde a short distance behind.

Oh, it was on now.

The boy wasn't even getting tired. His legs were burning, his entire body drunk on adrenaline and whatever other chemical that flowed through his body (he'd have to remember to copy the notes off of Tim for Science class again), but by God, he was in absolute nirvana.

"Whoa, you actually caught up?!" the younger Maximal exclaimed to the human child, more than a little surprised at this.

"Y-Yeah!" Mathis shouted back. "Yeah, guess I did!" who cared about being a Sabertooth Tiger or whatever other animal, he was killing it just being an ordinary, boring….well, kid!

...

"..."

"..."

"...ok, look kid, you gonna stare all day?"

The red-haired girl giggled at the grey rat's annoyance. Even if she was the current source of such, she found she didn't particularly mind it. "I guess I just never realized how…"

Rattrap quirked a brow, taking another bite of the rotted blue apple (another indication this was no more than a dream. Not the giant, talking rat, oh no). "How what? You said it now, you can't leave me hanging."

Her teal eyes shifted. "I don't think you'll like it."

"I reiterate my prior statement."

"Fine," she said. In truth, she was somewhat anxious about how he'd react, yet all the same, a part of her hoped it'd be something he'd react to. "I never realized how fuzzy you are."

Any contents that once rested inside his mouth were promptly spat out. "Wh-WHAT?!" he exclaimed, scarcely believing what he had just heard. "What'd ya just say?!"

"I said you were fuzzy!" she repeated, a part of her somewhat fearful she offended him, yet another just as excited. "Right now! Your fur's getting all ruffled up!"

"It-it is not!" it clearly was. Robotic at spark he might've been, his outer skin was still a slave to its species' "quirks".

"Yes it is!" she chortled, fear finally gone and replaced with total amusement.

"It is not, kid!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yes, it is!"

"No, it ain't!"

The vocal back and forth continued on and on, his growing frustration and embarrassment seemingly only channeling more and more humor for the human child, she then actually having the gall to come over and stroke him. Actually stroke him, as if he were some pet she had owned! Even worse, as he came to see as she continued to do it over and over, her hand traveling through his grey fur, Rattrap didn't entirely seem to mind. Daresay, it actually felt kind of...nice.

"Still don't know which of yous is worse. You or Choppahface."

"...you're still fuzzy."

"...it's you."

...

Block.

Thrust.

Block.

Swing.

Block.

Upward swing.

How she had managed to conjure up this particular kata in such a small amount of time, mattered not to her.

"Come now!" all that mattered was whom she was doing it for. "You're surely more capable than that!" Twisting herself around, the Filipino girl lifted her wooden sword and brought it down on the winding blade of Cybertronian origin, the wood miraculously not splintering upon impact. The azure features of her idol transformed into something of a curt grin of amusement. "You really believe you have a chance against me?"

"M-Maybe?" she answered. How she was doing this, she didn't know, yet frankly, she didn't care. And now she just up and made herself look like an idiot in front of him. Great.

Their weapons continue to strike and hit against each other, Dinobot outranking her in strength and size, yet she found that her smaller frame led to her gaining some clear advantages. Ducking under his legs, she aimed to stab upwards, he, in turn, whirling around and leaping forward, away from her strike. She got up, ready to go at it again, yet on the transformed Maximal's azure features, she beheld something that, had she not been so determined to keep her composure in front of him, she could've died happy right then and there in her sleep.

A smile.

A smile that echoed nothing short of absolute pride. Pride for her, of her, of one that had called him her favorite.

"You're far from ready to be partaking in any battle." the transformed velociraptor told her. "Yet...I will say this: there is a degree of potential in you."

...

Despite the distance between each of them, some greater than others, the same consensus was shared among all of them that night. And for many more nights to come. If their fantasies could either become their reality or better yet, have the ones they fantasized of step into the one they were unfortunately stuck in, then their young barely lived lives would be nothing short of absolutely perfect.

Primal's best soldier.

Rhinox's number one assistant.

Cheetor's best friend.

Rattrap's favorite (though he'd never say it).

Dinobot's best student.

The ideal scenario, should it ever be granted to them.

Though even in their young minds, they all knew such things, and their idols were regulated to the television and their own minds. True, it far from curbed or starved the desire to wish and hope for it, yet ultimately, it would be for naught.

For now, they had to make do with what they had at their disposal, regulated and limited to the simple, partially fulfilling games that they played.

[tfwhynoy]

Megatron finding out his crush (alien if possible if not human) ((if alone same size ish if you don’t mind? No biggie with that though)) was a gladiator? And maybe said crush showing some scars (anywhere) and then some fluff, confession then make out? If you don’t mind, of course!

So I forgot about the whole confession and make out part but fuck do I love the creature and would love to make a continuation of this. I’ll probably even make a drawing because there was so much description of them I left out. Just know if possible I’m going to have one of these creatures be the reader when applicable because I love it that much. I really hope y’all enjoy

You were a peculiar creature, to say the least.  Few organics were as large as your species, let alone ones that also lived as long. Your kind had originally been made to fight, often sent to fight in wars on distant planets. A free one is a rare sight and one you are proud of being.

You had always jumped from place to place, planet to planet. Not many were fond of you. Three sets of large arms and sharp claws as hard as steel weren’t a friendly sight. Your more ‘uncivilized’ proportions didn’t help, many saw your ability to run on four legs like an animal as yet another point to be hostile towards you.

It’s when you finally reached into the places where larger inorganics and the rarer sized organics were commonplace that things truly began to look up. You still didn’t quite fit in perfectly, but you could get work and found your many sets of arms a great use in busy places like bars where you could serve several people at the same time.

After a while, you had heard about a large underground fighting ring. It paid more money than you had anything ever seen in your entire life. Per match. 

You cautiously joined in and found great success. You were an oddity that for the first time, was celebrated. The more brutally you fought, the more you let your instincts take control, the more you shredded your opponent to pieces, the more you got paid. Even in the harder fights that you got injured in you were quick to recover, you always got the best medicine with your newfound riches after all.

Then rings began to get shut down, your fame and animalistic slaughter of opponents was enough to draw attention from the planets legal enforcers. Things began to fall apart again, and you needed to run away.

You spent a large portion of your money to get something to hide who and what you were, an armor that made you look mechanical. Under enough scrutiny, it wasn’t hard to figure out you were still organic. Still, the complete change in looks mixed with the change in deminer was enough to confuse those searching for you as if you were a runaway animal on the loose.

Somehow in all your drifting, you found yourself on the Lost Light, surrounded by cybertronians. Most of them were shorter than you but just a few were taller. Everyone knew you weren’t a cybertronian but everyone but those you were close to assumed you were inorganic. That was most easily seen by those who felt comfortable shit-talking them around you, implying them all to be weak and fragile, assuming they all were like the small squishy humans Swerve was so fond of. As much as you wanted to prove them wrong, to show your true face and rip those people to shreds, you couldn’t. You had spent so long learning to stop letting your instincts control you anymore and you weren’t about to throw all that away.

During your time on the lost light, you had grown closest to Megatron. His similar size and serious demeanor drew you to him. After all, he was one of the few bots who didn’t go off the wall once a week. He was rather standoffish at first but with enough patience, you two happily discussing poetry and past events together. He knew you were organic. Considering the large amount you had to eat you often spent your free time with him talking over a meal, something you couldn’t do with your helmet on. 

It was over such a meal that he asked about the lighter markings on the parts of your neck that were visible.

“Markings?” you touched around your neck for a moment before realizing his mistake, “You mean my scars?”

His brows furrowed, “Scars?”

You smiled, your several rows of sharp teach showing through your thin lips, “When organics get hurt if the wound is deep enough the flesh that heals will often be colored differently. I was a… I think the closest word in your language would be a gladiator? I fought in underground rings for entertainment. Many would try to rip out my throat, not realizing I have a thicker shell-like structure to protect my airways beneath the skin and muscle.”

Something flashed across his face that you couldn’t recognize. “You were a gladiator?”

“Yes. Did I bring up something for you?” 

He gave a small nod, “Shortly before I started the war I was a gladiator. I used it as a starting point, turning the whole world into a ring.”

You nod and take another bit of haunch that makes your meal. Serrated teeth quickly tearing the flesh off as you shake your head back and forth.

You remember the first meal you shared with Megatron. His glass of energon so clean and unthreatening, meanwhile you were left to tear raw flesh from a larger creature’s bones. Megatron had found your display deeply unsettling. Each time you threw back your head to swallow the torn piece whole he tensed. You had offered to not eat in front of him anymore but he said it was his problem. Megatron wouldn’t force a friend to eat in isolation just because he was uncomfortable.

After you swallowed your current bite you looked back to see Megatron completely unfazed, he no longer cared how or what you ate anymore.

“I’m guessing you don’t have the same remnants left on yourself that I do?”

“Scars? No, such scratches tend to be mended after larger injuries,”

“Would you like to see more of mine?”

Megatron blinked in surprise, “Wouldn’t that require you to remove your armor?”

You chuckled and blinked slowly back at him, “You are my friend. I don’t feel the need to hide behind the metal. If you feel comfortable I would gladly show you my scars. I’m quite proud of them, to me they show the many trials I have overcome to become who I am.”

He nodded and you stood from your seat. Had you fewer arms it would take intense instruction and several people to take it off. You knew were all the switches and buttons were and which order to make the metal release. The locks clicked and released, the whole armor splitting down the back to allow you to step out of it. Without you, it folded compactly into a large but unassuming briefcase. The only hint that it was abnormal being its insane weight.

You stretched, you often forgot just how much the armor limited your range of motion.

You looked back at Megatron, expecting him to find you disgusting. He always took time to adjust to anything new about yourself he saw. 

But even as you stood on your two jointed legs and hunched posture he didn’t look at your with anything but curiosity.

You sat back on your chair, stretching out and doing your best to subtly show off your many scars and abnormal joints. “Do you enjoy the view?” You joked.

You could hear his fans kick in as a small smile shone across his face. Even if it was subtle you always loved how cute he was when he got flustered. 

Your smile couldn’t be any wider as you took the last few bites of your meal. A comfortable new conversation about your revealed body settling around you two.

[thatgoddamnwizard]

Fic for Amcracchius: Only the Monsters Survive

((First of the fic prompts! This is for @amcracchius​, who asked that Michael give Harry a bear hug. Okay, no bear hug in this part, but it’s going to be a two-parter, and there will be a good, solid bear hug in that. Before the bear hug comes angst. You knew there would be angst. ;)

This is set in the Hell’s Angels, Heaven’s Rejects verse (also to be archived over at @hellsangelsheavensrejects​, though I still need to put up all the threads there), and takes place shortly after The Hidden Things (which yes, still needs to be finished).

Part 2 is coming soon!))

____________________________

The world faded in around me like the opening scene of a movie, and the first thing I saw was the empty street I had been standing in. For a minute, I thought I could hear someone shouting my name.

And then everything was silent, eerily so, a conspicuous absence of the usual Chicago din of rumbling motors, blaring horns, roaring jets flying overhead, the pitch and yaw of human movement. It was an absence of sound that wasn't so much like the beats of silence between a breath held and expelled, as it was like the vast emptiness that seems to fill a room after a last breath is exhaled. It was the silence of death.

It was a silence I would never grow fully accustomed to.

I started to walk, because there wasn't anything else to do in this gutted, burned-out wasteland of ruined buildings and crumbling asphalt and slowly rusting automobiles, the decaying remains of human civilization left to the reclamation of nature, and the monsters.

Only the monsters had survived. I tried not to think about what that might mean about my own survival.

I tried not to think about the fact that everyone I loved was dead.

I tried not to think about the things I had done to the people I loved. The suffering I had caused with my choices.

I tried not to think about the fact that those choices were probably why I was here now, alone with the monsters.

I tried not to think about how damned lonely I was. About how long it had been since I had felt the brush of human fingers against my skin, the softness of lips pressed against mine, the warmth of a caring embrace. About how much I missed... everyone. Murphy. Susan. Wynonna. Michael. Maggie. Weatherly. And... someone I couldn't quite remember, though somehow I knew he was still there somewhere, locked away in a hidden place within my mind.

Gone. All of them. I missed them. I missed them so much it felt like an open wound salted with despair.

I could see the monsters, lurking in the periphery, watching from the shadows of abandoned buildings as I shuffled past, figures twisted and grotesque and hungry. Always hungry. Their prey had been hunted into extinction, and now they had no one left to hunt but each other.

And me.

I didn't make it easy for them. I carried loops strung with their teeth and claws on my belt, a warning that I was not and would never be an easy target. They still came after me, though, on a fairly regular basis. I guess instinct wills out. Instince and hunger and sheer, bloodthirsty violence.

Three hunched, deformed figures ventured from their hiding places and approached me, hissing and snarling and slavering, lifting their heads to scent the air as they drew close. I stopped walking, fingers flexing around the rough-carved wood of my staff.

Again, I heard that echo of a familiar voice, as if carried on the wind. I shook my head, frowning, trying to hear, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

I looked back at the ghouls.“Might want to reconsider, fellas.”

The ghouls didn't reconsider.

The first one hurled itself at me with a leonine roar, and I whipped my staff around with a snarled word, expelling a blast of kinetic energy that sent it slamming into a stalled-out car hard enough to crumple the metal and send the vehicle rolling. While I was occupied with that one, the other two closed in fast on either side.

I dove into a forward roll. The two ghouls smacked together like a couple of speeding locomotives, and fell in a tangle of elongated limbs and flashing claws. Spinning low to the ground with staff still in hand, I came up into a crouch facing the thrashing ghoul-tangle, called on Winter, and, with an explosion of indescribably frigid, frost-sharpened air and a shout of “Infriga!” encased the two of them in ice. I then turned and gave the same treatment to the third ghoul.

A couple of kinetic blasts shattered the ice and the ghouls trapped inside. I didn't need a pair of pliers to retrieve my trophies this time.

I found a few teeth that were reasonably intact among the remains. I couldn't quite tell which teeth were from which ghoul, but I figured it didn't really matter. Walking over to an office building that somehow still had a reflective pane of dark glass set in its frame, I leaned my staff against the glass and pulled loose the leather cord that held a variety of fangs and claws dangling from small holes bored into the bone. I started to fold myself into a squat so I could prepare the teeth, but I caught sight of myself in the glass.

There is a moment of disconnect, even panic, when you look into a mirror and see something looking back at you that isn't you, that should never be you. I found myself grabbing for my staff and calling up my power again, my lips pulled back into a snarl that exactly mirrored that of the creature in the window.

The creature was of a height with me. It had the same basic bone structure, the same build. But its eyes were glacial-blue, its skin deathly white and stretched thin over jutting cheekbones, horned joints, and ropy muscle, its fingers tipped with translucent claws, its mouth filled with jagged, shark-like teeth.

It grabbed a staff at exactly the same time that I grabbed mine. It snarled at me in exactly the same way I snarled at it. Its body coiled with tension and barely-restrained violence in exactly the same way mine did.

The disconnect... connected. That figure was me. I was the monster in the mirror.

I could only stand, gaping. Minutes melted past, and I reached up to touch the glass, finger to reflected finger.

I was the monster in the mirror.

The voice returned, and this time I heard it clearly. A terribly, exquisitely familiar battle cry: Lava quod est sordium! In nomine Dei, sana quod est saucium!

Michael? But that was impossible. Michael had...

How had Michael died? I frowned, trying to remember.

I knew it had happened. I knew it had been my fault. I just couldn't remember how.

Was he coming for me? The monster in the mirror?

“No. This isn't happening,” I murmured. Something inside me snapped to awareness at those words.

And then the glass in front of me, and the reflection it held, shattered-- no, exploded, a spray of razor-sharp mirror fragments that swept over me, leaving a thousand tiny lacerations on my skin. I was thrown, landing on my back on the pavement.

And then I woke up. It felt like being hurled from a speeding train. My body shuddered and convulsed, then curled itself into a fetal position, weak and shivering.

“Harry,” a familiar voice said, strained with worry. I felt strong hands on me. “Harry, it's over. You're safe.”

I couldn't answer. The hands shifted on me, calloused warmth pressing against the clammy skin of my forehead, and I heard Michael's voice murmur a prayer for strength and healing. The words ran together like melting wax in my mind as I heard them, but I could feel their meaning. Could feel the power of his faith, the power vested in response to his faith. Not a surge of energy, not a blast of magic flooding through me, but something all made of a boundless, gentle strength. Warm. Reassuring.

The weakness in my body receded slowly like an ebbing tide. I lifted my head and looked around, memories starting to creep back into place. Alerted by the Paranet, we had gone to a nearby town to investigate a number of disappearances, and had encountered... I'm actually not sure what it was we had encountered. It had resembled a spider, but with a vaguely humanoid torso and head-- and I do mean vaguely. Mottled skin, a multitude of gleaming red eyes, and fangs that dripped with venom weren't exactly what I would call human.

The thing had been fast as hell. It had bitten me. And then I had fallen into that nightmare, which I felt fairly certain was part dream, part psychic attack.

And part truth.

I am the monster in the mirror.

“Harry?” Michael was still crouched beside me. Amoracchius was stained black with what I presumed was the spider-thing's blood. I looked around me for any evidence of its lingering presence, but only saw a disturbingly large but rapidly evaporating puddle of ectoplasm about a dozen feet away.

“Yeah,” I croaked. “I'm good.”

Slowly, I started dragging myself to my feet. Michael kept a hand on me, supporting me. I realized my face was wet with tears, and blinked them away, swiping at them with one hand. Dizziness was still playing a lively game of ring-around-the-rosie inside my head, but whatever venom the spider-thing had injected into my nervous system had apparently dissolved as well. I hoped it would evaporate before I had any interesting complications from it.

“Harry,” Michael said, and I recognized that tone of voice. The tone of voice he used when he was determined to get me to talk about something I had absolutely no desire to talk about. “What happened? What did you see?”

“Doesn't matter.” I walked a few paces, retrieved my staff where it had fallen during the battle, and started towards Michael's truck. “We done here? I need to get back to Chicago.”

Michael looked like he was about to press the issue, but then sighed and fell into step beside me.

to be continued...

[gasolinenfire]

name: thomas booker ‘ judas ‘ pearson nicknames: judas , yes , that’s it. really , he won’t respond to anything else. age: forty six sexuality: demisexual pronouns: he / him , cismale species: mage / pyromancer occupation: owner of judas’ auto joint / mechanic / bounty hunter / jack of all trades & handy man / ex-death blade sign:  capricorn spotify: coming soon pinterest: here

i really didn’t expect to pick up a third character , but it’s nary F.K.A. snottie back again with another long ass late af intro thanks to lock down. i have had judas for a very long time , but he has def been tweaked and edited here or there to fit into the vainglory plot. if you think he seems familiar , he probably is. anyway , onward to the more interesting and important stuff like a handsome pyromancer mechanic under the cut.

── the high council is prepared to hear the story of THOMAS BOOKER ' JUDAS ‘ PEARSON , we might of mistaken them as NORMAN REEDUS they’re known as a MAGE / PYROMANCER while noted as a WANDERER / EX-DEATHBLADE. appearances may be deceiving , with immortality being so common among supernaturals. this being has walked the earth for FORTY SIX years , and their face reflects an age of FORTY SIX. the holy war with the noctis has forced them to stay in new tallinn. you will find them residing in BLIGHTBIRD

once they were known as a MECHANIC & OWNER OF JUDAS’ AUTO JOINT to blend in with the mortal crowd. now , you might find them as a BOUNTY HUNTER to prepare for the unholy war against the noctis. they plan to FIGHT AGAINST the noctis with the hopes to RESTORE.

PERSONALITY.

element: earth ruling planet: saturn -- the planet of discipline & maturity body part(s): knees , skin , bones & teeth good day: loyal , family-oriented , hardworking , devoted , honest , fearless , genuine bad day: proud , impulsive ,  bossy , stubborn , reckless , jealous , pessimistic , unforgiving , cold , antisocial , guarded  favorite things: the smell of leather , road trips ( on hand built bikes ) , dark liquor , chain smoking , hot showers , his bed , hamburgers , goals / projects , being in charge , exclusive clubs , motorcyles , tattoos , scars  least favorite things: his time as a deathblade , losing , large gatherings of people , strangers , rules , authority , the high council , deep or large bodies of water , quitting , shouting in public , careless mistakes  secret wish: to have every need taken care of how to spot him: forehead covered by greasy or sweaty bangs , distinctive jaw , strong teeth , wise look in his eyes , gruff voice , rough grease stained hands where you’ll find him: enjoying quality time in his personal garage , working obsessively on a large-scale bike project , at work , drinking at a bar ,  keywords: willpower , initiative , determination , passion , ambition , goals , security , stability , comfort

a measured master planner , judas’ has the power of structure , delayed gratification and setting goals for the long haul.

this mage is willful and determined , focused on the loftiest goals. he sets his mind on an outcome , and will reach the finish line. it may be an epic “ hero’s journey ” to get there , which is why he has his steely grit and unparalleled resilience. 

taking the road less traveled isn’t how this traditional man rolls. instead , judas maps out the straightest and simplest route to the top , then sticks to its plan. even if it takes a little more time to get there without shortcuts , the ambitious pyromancer will make the trek. 

the essence of his energy is loyal , structured , family-oriented ( though he won’t exactly admit it ) , hardworking , devoted , honest, and paternal among other personality traits. 

negative expressions of his energy can be pessimistic , unforgiving , cold , materialistic , snobbish , elitist , overly serious , etc. judas’ energy can even be considered overly harsh or calculating on occasion. 

the dutiful side of him can be his downfall , the stoic handy man may repress a lot to be the “ rock ” for others which can lead to a heavy or burdened energy he tries to mask.

judas combines a rock-solid foundation and skillful plans into a high rise penthouse fit for world domination , but he wouldn’t know it. he’s extremely humble.  

a master strategists ex-deathblade and owner of his own business , who always keeps one eye on a five- or ten-year plan. motivated to take on big goals and create structures in his life that will last the test of time.

he is known for being stern and authoritative on occasion , you definitely don’t want to try and get under this fire wielder. i guess you could say that he is the “ daddy ” type , and wants to be respected for his command. 

additionally , another keyword for the mechanic could be repression , which can make his urges come out in shocking or subversive ways. don’t be surprised if judas has a few freaky secrets under the stoic exterior.

he is a leader and “ idea person ” , prizing originality and liking to be first in everything he does. count on the handyman in him to initiate a winning idea or plan.

( tw: blood ment. , alcohol ment. ) busy , busy ! you can find judas enjoying quality time with ‘ family ‘ ( blood of the covenant is thicker than water of the womb ) throwing back a beer , working obsessively on a large-scale project ( most likely involving something auto ) , chilling in his garage tinkering around on something listening to classic rock , or hunting supernatural criminals / fugitives for bounty. 

( tw: alcohol ment. , drug ment. ) whether he’ll admit it or not , he tends to like mixing business with pleasure ( don’t be surprised if you catch him having a beer or joint at the shop ). it isn’t too often , but he does tend to develop tight bonds with people he meets on the job or through projects similar. 

he could be loosely considered one of the “ popular people ” around town , seeing as he’s sort of the jack of all trades that you can hire for relatively cheap to fix just about anything. his eyes were born with the eyes on the prize , he’s always had to provide for and rely on himself so he knows how to do so.

once judas sets his sights on something , he begins to climb slowly and steadily toward that goal. though often he becomes so focused on reaching the finish line that he can fail to pay attention to the journey , looking neither to the right nor the left. 

this man believes that if he just keeps pushing ahead , eventually he’ll get what he wants. judas honestly just needs to learn flexibility and to listen more to his heart than his head at times if he wants to feel fulfilled inside and out. 

ambitious as he may be , he hasn’t and doesn’t always have relentless drive. when he slips into lounge mode the mechanic can relax with the best of ’em , becoming practically immobile. work hard , play hard is definitely ( one of ) his modus operandi. 

other times , he can overwhelm himself by setting such impossible goals that he gets discouraged and gives up before he even leaves the starting gate. judas does best when he breaks his grand plans into measurable action steps. 

any friends the mage has could remind him to celebrate his victories — not just the huge ones but the small triumphs and milestones along the way.

BACKGROUND.

thomas booker pearson had his life turned upside-down in an instant when his true lineage was violently revealed. it ripped him from his family and the only life he had ever known.

it didn’t begin this way , it began on a strangely frigid december night forty-six years ago when a little , screaming babe was born into the world. as this little boy grew up his parents came to realize just how strange he was.

the magic comes from his mother and her side of the family , while his mother never displayed any sign of being a mage his grandmother had been a powerful one. apparently , the gift – or curse if you reference thomas’ mother – of magic skipped generations and it had passed right by olivia on to her son.

growing up for the little boy was anything but normal , but thomas knew no different and this didn’t affect him too much so he thought. his mother kept magic and the supernatural world a secret from him as long as she could in the hopes that they were wrong and she could suppress his powers , but it was all in vain.

strange things always seemed to happen to or around thomas though , things that couldn’t be explained but his mother found ways to dismiss despite the evidence against her. all these occurrences became more severe , more frequent , over the course of his teenage years but he had found that going up to the rooftop at night to look at the stars had a way of calming him down.

starlight wasn’t his only source of happiness either , most days you could find the young man out in the garage tinkering with anything that had an engine. his love for motorcycles has no bounds.

( tw: drug ment. , suggested child neglect ) his family comes from a long line of poor individuals , but he had grown accustomed to it. his mother and father were very rarely around , his mother was afraid of him and his father spent more time with his backward ass hillbilly cousins or doped up somewhere than at home.

so,  thomas busied himself with anything auto , stargazing , and sooner than later – the way of the wiccans. maybe it was magical intuition or just luck , but the mage came across the wiccan faith and fell into it easily. it was like finding where he belonged , he no longer felt ostracized or like the black sheep he was of his family.

( tw: fire ment. ) that was when it all went downhill , one day when he was practicing his pyromancy – which he found he had an affinity for – and was caught by none other than his mother. his mother’s reaction wasn’t very pleasant , and their argument was intense and volatile. so much so that the emotion thomas was feeling literally manifested itself in actual flames , enveloping his entire body.

( tw: fire ment. , accidental arson , death ment. , death by fire ment. ) being a novice he had no way of knowing how to stop it. the fire left the house in ruin and that was the last straw , his mother was ultimately trapped inside and burned alive. after that the mage was on his own , he left town immediately and luckily there was never a way to actually connect her death to him.

thomas was left feeling lost and confused , but like he finally had a chance to start over and live his own life. he quickly found himself in the supernatural community , but figuring out how to live his life involved in it was more difficult than he thought.

he was only twenty years old and found himself very proud of his supernatural ability , suddenly very invested in the community and wanting to serve in the easiest way he knew how which was in combat. he viewed the deathblades as some form of justice and was easily manipulated into doing everything in his power to be appointed one , he was successful and worked as a deathblade for decades.

now at forty-six he has ’ retired ’ and lives in haapsula , estonia where he owns his very own auto shop. while not nearly as dangerous as before , he can be dangerous to be around when he lets his emotions take over and his capabilities should not be underestimated nor tested.

HEADCANONS.

on top of being a mechanic he is also a professional bounty hunter as something of a side hustle. so , if you need any supernatural monster , fugitive or criminal rangled , judas is your man. he’s pretty much down to get paid to do just about anything , fix your sink , put together furniture , install a/c ? just give him a price , he’s basically your token jack of all trades handyman.

( tw: fire ment. ) he left his past behind him after the fire , thomas booker pearson burned away that day and since he only goes by judas. it’s highly unlikely anyone even knows him as anything else.

( tw: cigarette ment. ) he is a chain smoker , he doesn’t care that it is killing him either. he hates when people tell him that it’s a bad habit or the like , he knows.

judas loves tattoos and a lot of his extra spending money has gone to them. he admires other forms of body modification , but sticks to tattoos and his few scarification tattoos.

even when he tries to clean up , he looks dirty. he is almost always covered in grease or oil from actual work at the shop or just working on his own little projects at home. it’s his aesthetic though and it works ??

i honestly have been working on this intro for hours now at this point and i am wore the fuck out , my eyes are sore af. i’m ready to go make something to eat ( it’s freaking midnight rn ) and then i’m gonna watch another episode of tiger king before taking my happy ass to bed. if you’re at all interested in plotting with my mans then definitely hmu on discord or in my tumblr ask / dms. 

[zayneternal]

《 Dissimilar Objects 》

summary ↠ A quiet and self preserved romantic. A highly sought friend and superlative artist in every regard. You almost drop dead when you’re informed Kim Taehyung is to be your research partner for the ARTS302 final. Of all people, really. The universe really had it out for you this year.

genre ↠ i’ve branded it ‘build-and-release-fluff’, artist!tae member ↠ kim taehyung warnings ↠ nah word count ↠ 6.5k

moodboard credit to @yutoadah​ || this is stunning

~

Art. It’s all art now. 

Scattered PaperMate pens and number two pencils of various sharpness and eraser length littered about the table etch a haphazard frame to the scrawled journals and tattered texts forming a kind of abstract image in their messy, half-open pilings. There are faded coffee stains barely visible against the wood surface-- a sort of blotched watercolor offering the subtle scent of espresso to the surroundings of the canvas. You wonder absentmindedly as you twirl an ink pen in between lazy fingers if modern artists are missing out on a prime opportunity for a new take on scratch and sniff.

“Earth to Y/N,” a low timbre rolls out, sounding far away at first before it cuts through the heaviness of your distraction with the accompaniment of a waving hand. You hadn’t realized how far you’d allow your mind to drift until you’re shaking it of the enveloping haze, eyes blinking away the fog that frames the sculpture you’ve spent the last 15 minutes unheedingly analyzing. 

Glancing up with more effort than it should take to refocus your gaze, you find a familiar mop of floppy, silver-green locks leaning itself into your line of vision, an expression of questioning adorned on the cherubic face below it: Taehyung. The first and only thought that seems to form at the sight of him is how he can still look just like he did when he stepped out of the hotel 8 hours ago--all put together and presentable--whereas you’re pretty sure you’ve been more resembling the Wicked Witch of the West since about noon.

His stupid hair--even tousled through and through by studying hands--is, of course, tumbling in waves of loose, glossy curls across his forehead, its coat somehow satin-like still against the dim glow of the coffeehouse bulbs overhead. Golden, melanin skin, paled slightly from the coming of the colder seasons, seems void of the stress and grime of the day laying creaseless and dew-like atop the landscape of his face. A softly structured nose rounds gently over a sharp cupid’s bow currently partnered in the parting of his stupid upper lip-- too pink and too big for his own good.

And those eyebrows, dark and full and an ample frame to that pair of liberally lustrous irises set wide and staring right at you. 

Art.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” those lips suddenly speak, a small, endeared chuckle following.

You shake your head again quickly, blinking. “Did you ask me something?” 

“If you were ready to get out of here, because it looks like you’re about to fall asleep on me.” He continues to look amused at your befuddled state as his long and lithe stature shifts from the metal chair he’d been residing in, svelte arms beginning to disassemble the sculpture of books and pens scattered about the table. Finally seeing this masterpiece of a mess return to a jumble of mundane school supplies seems to jolt you out of the last of your lagging lethargy. 

“Oh...no, I wasn’t falling asleep on you!” you vindicate as naturally as possible, rising a little too fast from your own seat as the words settle on you a second time. “I-I mean, I wasn’t on you.” Your hands elevate in defense as your eyes widen slightly. “I was over here not falling asleep! Very not on you...No, I was just--” You’re all-too-aware of Taehyung’s luminous eyes watching you with undisguised intrigue, a dusting of that winsome side smirk present at the corner of his lips as he tosses his book-bag over one shoulder, shoving the other hand into the front pocket of his slacks. “What time is it again?”

You’re aware that he never said it in the first place, but your inner-self is practically begging you for a change of topic before he can respond.

If you weren’t embarrassed before, you begin to feel so now at how disheveled you appear attempting to wrangle up your own things while Taehyung stands there waiting looking like something carved from alabaster, but he only chuckles lowly once more, unfazed by your scattered nature. You’re too busy stuffing the last of your PaperMate pen collection into a pencil case and avoiding his shining gaze to see him grinning fondly down at you, tugging his wrist back out to check the watch that resides there. 

“Almost three-thirty,” he replies casually, replacing his hand and readjusting the position of his bag across his broad shoulder.

“Three-thir--are you kidding?! There’s barely any time left!” Your eyes are suddenly wide and breathing frantic, any organization that was going to the innards of your book-bag now long forgotten as you jam the zipper half-closed and toss your arm through the strap. 

“Don’t worry, it’s not that fa--” Taehyung is abruptly cut off with a surprised grunt as you whip his body along behind yours, his narrow wrist locked within the steely determination of your nimble fingers. All of your previous inhibitions have been momentarily stored away for the sake of the greater task at hand--and that greater task closes in less than 3 hours. 

"Thank you!” you call hastily over your shoulder to the barista who is currently restocking 20oz cups by the register. He seems an equal mix of confused and uninterested as you whisk your entourage from the premises of the quaint coffee shop you’ve been holed up in for the past who-know’s-how-many hours stuffing random bits of research into your head until it refused to retain anymore. 

You hear Taehyung echo your acknowledgement of service behind you with a stutter, his footsteps slapping heavily after yours in an effort to keep up with your pace as you press through the doors and stumble out onto the bustling Manhattan sidewalk. There’s a brief moment where you worry that your feet are going to catch on themselves in all your haste before Taehyung’s hand frees itself from your grip and stations against your waist, hovering, ready to steady your clumsy gate. 

“Whoa there,” he breathes with a hint of laughter as you turn your face to find his resting far too close, his long body bent at an odd angle over you to accommodate for the lack of space left for two stationary bodies in the middle of the walkway. All semblance of resolve formerly, and very momentarily, surging through your body speeds away along with the bustling business men and women on their conference calls leaving you to your usual awkward self, dissecting the sculpture in front of you with wide eyes and a lodged throat. 

“I think I can keep up with you now,” Taehyung continues, smiling that smooth lipped smile, soft and small. “Besides, I might need both of my limbs to keep you from hurting yourself for the next few blocks.” His hand slips from your waist, the tips of his jointed digits leaving a palpable sting where each of them sat before skimming away and disappearing back inside the lining of his pocket. 

Of all of the many quips that run through your head in response to his comment about your uncoordinated--and sure, sometimes hazardous--manner of motion, all that comes out at the part of your lips is, “R-Right.” The urge to let your self-reprimand show in every expression imaginable is too great to continue to facing Taehyung, so you quickly turn and force your feet forward, careful to make sure they’re out of their own way before heading off.

“Uh...hey, Y/N?”

“What--Yeah?” You contort awkwardly around to see that Taehyung hasn’t moved from where he stands except for an arm raised with a thumb jabbing in the opposite direction from you. 

“MoMA is that way.” 

There’s a moment’s pause before your chest pulses with a breathy laugh, your hands finding purchase on your hips as you casually adjust your course, hoping beyond hope that the powder on your face is helping to hide the red roses blossoming in your cheeks. You try with all your might not to let the mortification you feel reach your knees, nervously smiling as you venture, “Since when did they...put it there?” and immediately regret it for how unnatural it sounds coming out of your mouth. The moment you pass Taehyung (avoiding direct eye contact for all it’s worth) your subconscious repeats the question sardonically to you, adding the ever-encouraging: Really? That’s what we went with? 

You’re a little more than confused when you hear Taehyung’s low chuckle vibrate behind you followed by the stomp of his shoes against the pavement as he jogs to catch up and fall into step with your pace. His amused gaze is like concrete against your temple, so tangible it hurts to continue ignoring. Luckily, he doesn’t allow you to.

“Was that...your attempt at a joke?”

“Um...”

“Waitwaitwait,” he goes on, his usually silken tone spiking with a kind of giddy entertainment you’re not quite sure the source of. “You’re telling me three years worth of art classes together and a whole semester as partners on this project and even a 14 hour plane ride sitting right next to each other, and all I get is, ‘Since when did they put it there’?”

You risk a glance to the side, curious to catch sight of his honeyed expression. To your ears, everything he just said adds up to sound something like an insult, but to your eyes, the hint of laughter visibly edging just behind his lips mixed with the glint of something more galvanized than usual swimming in those eyes added to the shoulders angled slightly in your direction as if he’s asking for something more all makes you feel the exact opposite of insulted. And suddenly, you’re laughing despite yourself, the moment of silence hung in the air after Taehyung’s inquiry now being filled with the simple heartbeat of your own amusement. 

“Sorry,” you giggle as your laughter fades, shaking your head. “I guess comedy isn’t quite my...forte.” It wasn’t a total lie. You knew it was only hard because you get so nervous every time Taehyung’s around. “I’ll work on my delivery.”

“I’ve got plenty of tips if you want to exchange notes later,” he suggests, meeting your eyes as you glance at him with scrunched brows, head cocked slightly as you try to discern where he could possibly find the time to take notes on comical delivery. His grin purses shyly, his eyes cutting to the ground for a moment as he laughs quietly to himself. “I was just being sarcastic.”

Your mouth forms into a sheepish ‘O’, instantly realizing you’d missed the joke. Maybe comedy really isn’t your thing.  

“Don’t worry,” he chuckles, again unfazed by your slip-up, his grin of the genuine variety that makes his eyes squint up into those sweet curves. “It gets easier with practice. We’ll take it slow.”

“Hm. Real smooth talker, aren’t you?” 

He doesn’t miss a beat, grin spreading until a real belly laugh lilts between bared teeth, his head tilting back in a boyish manner. “See? You’re practically an expert already.” 

You can’t help but smile--a real, barefaced grin--up at Taehyung, surprised at how much more comfortable you feel in his presence. An hour ago, he had been the Kim Taehyung of the junior art department: the charming, ruminative, cosmopolitan of your class that had the kind of face every other girl at your university wanted to get her legs around. Everything he’s done, does, and probably will do turns out all sunshine and rainbows, and even when something of the cruelest challenge might arise, he almost makes it look like child’s-play putting it bed with a smile. Of course, one could imagine, he’s quite the frustration to sit beside semester after semester while these infuriating feelings of roses and gummy bears sit like a rock in your gut fighting your every desire to dislike him. 

But now...what was he? You suppose ‘friend’ is as good a word as any for his place in this relationship that seems to be collecting itself at your feet. You’re already aware of how many others go proudly boasting this title around the university--as if Taehyung’s name is some sort of badge to be worn as nothing more than a sign of status--but this doesn’t feel like that. You may need a bit more practice on picking a joke out of a crowd, but you can spot dishonesty a mile away, and the way Taehyung is still grinning back at you in this moment...it’s nothing but authentic. 

“Whoa! Watch--” he suddenly and spasmodically puffs, his serene smile contorting in favor of quick alarm. You’re slightly ignorant to what’s happening in the blur behind you, your gaze still dragging like molasses along Taehyung’s face hovering above, until his hand once again burns against your hip. The feeling echoes up your side, and you instinctually begin to pull away from his ensnarement on a whim of insecurity lest you lean in a little too much, but Taehyung’s hand only grips tighter, this time tugging causing your body to stumble a few steps sideways, tripping until your hands catch themselves against him--one on the upper arm steadying you and the other fisted against the brunt of his abdomen. 

“You okay?” he checks, his voice drifting from above you as you keep your eyes trained on the eccentric pattern of his loosely tucked button down. You can only nod in response, still unsure of how to casually un-stick yourself from his side. 

“Stupid biker...” you hear him mutter under his breath. “He should know better than to be going that fast with this many people out...could hit someone.” 

You quickly crane your neck around, wide eyes searching down the sidewalk where it doesn’t take long to spot a man in a tacky business suit speeding away far faster than is safe through the parting stream of this many people. It’s then that you realize that in all of your roses-and-gummy-bear confusion, Taehyung had only been pulling you to safety...yet again. With this new cognizance in clear picture, you suddenly feel extra awkward when you look back and remember that you’re still tangled in a symbiotic embrace with him.

As naturally as you can manage, you unlatch yourself from Taehyung’s stature, though you still end up scrambling a little faster than you intend for which you try to recover by smoothing the wild fly-aways of your hair behind your enflamed ears once more. Risking a glance up through nervous lashes, you see Taehyung smirking down at you with that look that you’ve practically memorized after seeing so many times today. 

Seeing it laced once again upon his features suddenly sends the remnants of your embarrassment flowing from your limbs, your eyes rolling as his lips part to say something most likely sarcastic in regards to your never ending clumsiness. “Let’s go,” you interject before he can comment, surprising even yourself as you reach out and grip the strap of the book bag slung across his shoulder, tugging assertively behind your directed stride. You hear a small grunt expel from behind you as he chokes a little bit on the words that never were, which--potentially spurred by the small devil of subconscious confidence you don’t realize is growing in your chest--makes you grin smally to yourself. 

Your gate is long and purposed--slightly because you want to keep up the hold you have over Taehyung at the moment but mostly because you don’t know what time is now, and you suddenly feel like you’ve wasted a decade trying to move a few blocks down the sidewalk. Just as your nerves start to creep back up your spine, jokes and speeding bikers no longer present to distract you from the actual reason the two of you were brought across the world to be in this city today, you round the corner onto 53rd street and behold the glory that is MoMA. 

“Wow...” you breathe in awe, your chest feeling like a balloon and your limbs like noodles. 

“You know,” Taehyung’s voice filters in through the cloud of your euphoria, not totally registering until it’s paired with the warmth of his palm coming to rest over where your own hand is vice gripped around his shoulder strap. “I hear it’s even better inside.”

The urge to roll your eyes again pales to the sear of his fingertips ghosting against your white knuckles. Your now redirected gaze is entranced instead with the vision of the slender digits that you’ve seen grace the length of paintbrushes and pens so many times now curled in a similar manner over the back of your palm. Your heart beats so aggressively it’s almost painful as you watch the intricate tendons under the smooth, rich layer of his skin pull and tense against the smallest of adjustments his fingertips make along the ridges of your fist. 

Everything feels so agonizingly slow, like this moment is being pulled through marshmallow fluff when you’re sure to outside eyes it’s all just a passing glance, yet you want to break the tension as much as you never want to move. Knowing you’ll crumble if you dare to look up to where Taehyung is surely analyzing you with those russet eyes, you indulge in the burn for only breath longer before clenching your jaw and un-tensing your fist, your knuckles flooding with blood-flow once more as you drag your appendage back to its own territory and drop it limply at your side. 

“We should probably go before they close,” is what you end up going with, unable to think of something to play off of Taehyung’s previous comment which you’re sure would’ve been a far smoother transition from the odd moment you just shared. Either way, Taehyung is nodding, his expression--now that you’re able to meet it--is reading rather inscrutable much to your frustration.  

This time, he’s the one to take the lead, striding forward with his hands now shoved in the pockets of his slacks, his gate casual, but casual for him meant a speed hop for you. You turn and jump to catch up with him, skip stepping awkwardly at his side as the two of you make the final approach to the face of the sculptured architecture that is the Museum of Modern Art. 

Your heart beats faster in all the best ways with every step closer to the interior that you get, a montage of iconic images cycling through your head that you’ve only ever seen in recreation or online mere minutes away from being right in front of you in real, vivid life. You think Taehyung can sense your excitement somewhat while you wait in the security line because you hear a puff of dry laughter from behind you followed by, “They might mistake all that bouncing for suspicious nerve,” breaking the poker-faced silence he’s adhered to since outside.

Recognizing the energetic bob in your right knee and refusing to let his cynical tease dampen even the slightest ounce of your zeal, you intensify the bend of your bounce, animating the motion on purpose and tossing a scowl over your shoulder towards Taehyung who is now trying to hide a grin. You decide to keep any comments regarding why he isn’t more excited to be here to yourself, beyond certain that once you emerge into the first exhibit, every part of Taehyung’s inner love for the artist is going to explode--hopefully in a very embarrassing display of gushing reviews, effusive ramblings, and a heartfelt apology for ever trying to rain on your parade. 

Security takes it sweet time, or at least feels that way, but when they release you with an hour and half to spare roaming the hallowed grounds of so many sacred works at your leisure, your chest almost rips itself open to give the security lady a hug. You and Taehyung have a mission to accomplish with one piece in particular, but when a bunch of people in suits wearing ear-pieces finish patting you and your bag down and tell you to “enjoy your time” in a free-range art exhibit, did anyone really expect you to keep any semblance of priority? 

Taehyung begins to unfold as you weave your way through the exhibits, the glossy and uninterested facade he wore in line giving way to something bona fide and vulnerable. You begin to snag snippets of what he thinks about deep-down and how he really looks at the world. With each painting you pass, his eyes look closer, more intentional, his lips parting, breathing in slowly and then laughing to himself or shaking his head or humming softly--lowly--as if something dark has resonated with him. It doesn’t take words or commentary for you to understand what the image is making him feel or think about--you just observe. It’s not the lyrical explosion you’d imaged, but lyrical still and a sweeter expression than you would’ve thought.

Occasionally he makes a comment on the origin of the painting--a tragic backstory of how it came to inspiration--or how he felt the first time he saw the image versus the emotion it elicits now. They’re small divulgences but concise, needing little vocabulary to communicate the sentiment. About an hour in, you realize you’ve spent more time admiring Taehyung than the actual art, but for some reason, you don’t really mind. 

It’s half an hour until closing when Taehyung rounds the corner on an exhibit, having just finished analyzing another image for himself, to find you standing in front of your own curiosity, head tilted and eyes entranced. 

“Hey they close pretty soon, we should probabaly--”

“Shh,” you quip without averting your gaze from the surreal collage. “I’m forming an artist’s opinion.” 

Taehyung scoffs, humored and surprised at your response, smiling as he redirects his sight to the painting you’re so enthralled by. “The Song of Love by Giorgio de Chirico,” Taehyung recites from memory, most likely recognizing the piece from one of your many art history classes over the years. “I don’t know much about this one. What’s your artist’s opinion saying?”

You pause in thought, tilting your head in the opposite direction as you continue to stare, mesmerized by what a sculpted head, a red rubber glove, and a green ball all painted purposefully on the same canvas represent. Unlike Taehyung, some foreknowledge of the piece is swimming upstairs, and the reason for the raptured staring is some tugging in your gut from something you vaguely remember reading about the creation on MoMA’s website a while back--one of the many pieces that caught your eye during a research splurge when you first knew you’d be coming on this trip.  

“‘Unlike meetings among dissimilar objects’...” you murmur, catching Taehyung’s attention. 

“Hmm?” 

“Dissimilar objects,” you repeat to yourself a little louder this time, turning sideways to see him next to you, looking curiously down at your working thought process. 

“I’m gonna need a few more words here, Y/N” he laughs again, your enigmatic bullet points obviously not getting the point across. You can’t help but chuckle to yourself as well as the rest of the article begins to resurface in your mind, the individual parts making uncanny--and sort of unnerving--sense the more they fit together.

“Sorry,” you laugh, shaking your head. “To be honest, I’m not 100% sure what Chirico was going for here...he wasn’t really one for logic and intense meaning--more childlike invention and lens.”

Taehyung nod’s slowly, his eyes upturned in thought, obviously confused by the method of your mood-swing explanation. 

“My artist’s opinion,” you continue, taking a breath as he meets your gaze again, expression awaiting something. “The ‘unlike meeting among dissimilar objects’--it’s the song of love in a way, don’t you think?” Taehyung tilts his head, equally intrigued and examining. “Opposites attract...isn’t that what people say?” You laugh to yourself lightly, eyes trailing the ground as you try not to get swept away in thought. 

“Anyway,” you smile, breaking the reverie before anything else slips into the moment of silence, recognizing that you don’t have much more time that can be eaten up by secondary items before MoMA closes. “The main event, shall we?”

Taehyung’s face looks strange when you rest your eyes on it once again, muddled with a thoughtful emotion that you can’t quite place but that shows obvious signs of intentional gnawing along the scrunched furrow of his brow as he stares directly at you, his irises searching. The suddenness of it startles you momentarily before his face is right back to normal, grin and all giving an affirmative nod as if nothing even happened. You blink quickly, wondering if anything even did as Taehyung takes the lead past you, his deft fingers snaking around your flimsy wrist and tugging you along after him into the final destination of the evening: the Vincent Van Gogh exhibit. 

You spot the precious canvas instantly, framed in all of it’s blue-and-yellow-swirled glory, rich and imposing, hung as a centerpiece to the stark, white wall behind it. Your eyes ache in unworthy reverence as they strive to take in the detail of every corner upon approach, every other person, painting, and feeling present in the room now wasting away until it’s just you and Vincent, standing in admiration before the glowing masterpiece that is “Starry Night”. 

“Oh...ohmygod.” You’re utterly breathless, the strokes brushed to imitate wind upon the canvas stealing away every ounce of air you have to work with. Suddenly, the hand--shaking uncontrollably under Taehyung’s grip on your wrist--is released. Without thinking, your fingers instantly begin the search for some new constant to counter your raging, excited, nervous energy until they eventually root into the warmth of an open palm, gracile appendages carefully slotting one at a time between your own and curling closed over the back of your chattering fist. 

“I can’t believe...it’s actually--we’re actually...I’m looking at it,” you stammer, feeling the strange urge to reach out and hug the painting: an urge you swiftly reject. In this moment, you desire nothing more than to just remember. You want to remember every emotion and detail of right now, knowing that art is feeling and the details in the expression. This piece has brought you 14 hours across the ocean into a country, state, and city you’ve never been to, experiencing so many incredible things just in the passing. It’s been so much more than the painting itself but how new hearts are drawn together to wherever it may be, and there they get to experience moments like this. 

A moment of anticipation that’s built up for years, learning all there is to know about the art and the artist behind it and what inspired such torment or beauty or revelation. Diving into the depths of what’s beneath the surface of that person or painting to a level where you feel like you know someone you’ve never known or can understand the nonverbal messages they wanted to send to the world. Helping someone to be understood when, at first glance, it might not be what meets the eye--it’s incredible. Indescribable. It’s art. 

You feel your cheeks burn as you suddenly realize a subconscious grin has made its way to your lips, your facial muscles tensing with how giddy you feel. “Why did we spend so long researching it when we could’ve been here living it?” you wonder in disbelief. “The colors, the inspiration, the detail, the style...it’s all so much more in real life.” You find yourself laughing lightly with elation which, earlier today, would’ve sent your face blushing immediately, but now, you feel nothing but comfortable. Your thought suddenly reminds you that you aren’t alone in your observation.

“Taehyung,” you breathe, still staring, hypnotized by the beauty before you. 

“Hmm?” A soft, almost sleepy sounding hum echoes from your left. 

“What’s your artist’s opinion saying?” Now that you ask it out loud, you feel a pang of nervousness as you realize Taehyung hasn’t said anything since you approached, your vehement ramblings of praise the only thing lilting through the silence. 

“It’s...” There’s a brief pause, and you can hear the tender rumination in the quiet, but your nerves are still edging, waiting to hear if he’s as in love as you are. “...extraordinary.”

Your chest inflates at the sound of his voice, your body humming until it jolts at the feeling of something warm squeezing around your hand, a solid and soft reminder that it’s still being gently steadied between Taehyung’s secure digits--an event you didn’t fully register until now. 

“I think,” he continues softly, and you can feel something in the air has shifted. His tone is the same as it was earlier in the fleeting moments when he would express his thoughts on various paintings, but for some reason, you’re not all that certain that he’s referring to the Van Gogh piece your eyes are practically burning a hole through at this point. 

There’s another beat of silence. 

“I think it’s more beautiful than it knows.” 

His words have your head tearing away from the canvas to where you find Taehyung already turned towards you, those stupid brown eyes mapping over your face with sincerity and a measure of anticipation, gaze flicking between the floor and your own wavering irises as his thumb brushes the back of your hand nervously. All that does is send maddening shivers along your arms and down your spine. 

“J-Just to be sure...” you begin, the words that are coming out of your mouth not even bothering to go through the filter--or your head in general--before emerging. “You are--t-talking about me, right?” 

Whatever reaction you were expecting, Taehyung bursting into laughter was not it. He has to bend over to collect himself, but even then he’s still humored as he comes to face you, shaking his head slightly so his floppy tendrils wisp against his forehead. “You’re incredible,” he beams, making your eyes widen even further. “You always say something that surprises me.”

If he thinks you’re surprising, he should take a walk in your shoes right now...

“What are you talking about?” you ask bluntly, closing your eyes against everything happening--it was a lot for 10 minutes before closing. 

Outside the world behind your eyelids, his laughter cadences to a stop, the silence making you even more nervous than before. The slow burn of his ever-loving fingers coming to curl and rest around the curve of your cheek, his thumb now brushing artist’s strokes on its canvas only causes you to squeeze your eyes tighter together, though in contradiction, you find comfort in also squeezing the daylights out of the hand you still hold, your whole body tensing. 

“I really want to kiss you right now.”

That has your eyes flying wide open, almost flailing out of the station of his hold on you if he weren’t so damn steady. “What?”

“Oh, no, don’t worry, I wasn’t being sarcastic this time,” he teases, his face completely nonchalant. The mortified expression you wear in reaction is all it takes to get him laughing again. “I’m serious, Y/N.”

“No, you’re not. You’re insane.”

He scoffs at you, rolling his eyes before pursing his lips and looking over your face in a thoughtful manner for a moment, his gaze narrowing. “I spend all day letting Ms. Falls-a-lot trip into me, trying not to laugh at those stupidly endearing jokes, attempting to understand how you can wear every little emotion on your face and still somehow always leave me dying to know what you’re thinking, and to top it all off, being left speechless in the middle of an art exhibit because you apparently have some alter ego in which art brings out this romantic, academic, philosopher-whatever that you’re so unaware the captivation of...and you expect me not fall in love with her? If that’s the case, then you’re the insane one.”

You’re not sure how you processed all of that very eloquent word vomit, but every gushy piece of it is stirring thick in your chest, the story of your ‘today’ remembered in such...affection. Every internal organ feels like it’s being thrown up, digested, and choked on simultaneously. “One day...” you begin somewhat incoherently, blinking a lot. “Isn’t love.” 

“Today was just the icing on the cake,” he whispers, smiling sweetly as the hand on your cheek shifts so it’s fit to the curve of your neck. Your eyes are still blinking rapidly, somewhat from disbelief. “You might have assumptions about the kind of person I am at school, but I think people are crazy if they can sit beside a girl like you in class for three years and not notice.”

You break the gaze you’ve been holding with him, eyes trailing the space where your feet stand, unable to process any more of what he’s saying with him looking at you so wholeheartedly. Once again, as much as you try or may want to believe in what’s easy and safe, there’s no denying the authenticity drenching the words he speaks. And your heart is racing at the slightest brush of his skin against yours, your whole body burning with him standing this close to you. You know, and you’ve known, how you feel about Taehyung for a while now, only inclined to repudiate your feelings for him because, until now, he’s been on a totally different planet than you, and hope wasn’t even in the solar system. It would’ve been idiotic to waste more than passing thoughts on what it would feel like to love him, but you’re starting to feel all of those passing thoughts welling back up from where you’ve stuffed them over the years the more he touches you.

No. Absolutely not. This all seems so enticing in the middle of a vacant art exhibit 5 minutes from close, but once you both walk through the front doors into the real world, what happens then? You both go back to school where he’s still him, and you’re still you--

“I’m your dissimilar object.”

“You’re my wh-” you begin to question in your confusion. 

“I’m the sculpted head to your rubber glove. The green ball in your triad of nonsense.” 

Your lips part in astonishment as whatever words you’d had catch in your throat. Taehyung has never looked more serious or more worried in your three years of knowing him. You’re not sure if he could sense you accepting defeat within the recesses of your mind or if the silence was dragging longer than he would’ve liked, but either way, the enormous depth and weight to his response was more than you would’ve ever expected to hear from the Kim Taehyung. He’d gotten it. Whatever you were trying to say before with the Chirico painting, he’d understood. He knew it was the two of you when you didn’t even know you were trying to tell that to anyone but yourself. 

And without even realizing it, you’d said yes. 

“Yes?” he repeats, incredulous and confused from your out of context response, his expression mixed with a layer of amusement, per usual. 

“Just yes, I don’t know. I’m just saying yes,” you clarify as if it needs no clarification. It might’ve been a little obvious that you’ve never done this whole ‘confession’ thing before. 

Luckily, Taehyung seems proficient at interpreting your enigmatic way of speaking, his expression slowly morphing from one of deep thought to one of disbelieving hope to one of expectation. 

“Sooo, yes to being my rubber glove?” he asks with that tone that has you rolling your eyes.

“Ok, I was actually wondering: why do I have to be the rubber glove, and you get to be a chiseled greek god?” You hold up your pointer finger in protest.

“I thought it was obvious,” he says casually, pretending to be confused that you would even have an objection.

“If what’s obvious is that you really don’t want that kiss you were talking about a second ago.”

His face blanches exactly as you expected it to, his Adam’s Apple bobbing with an obvious gulp. “Are you serious?”

You can’t help but laugh at how helpless he looks in this moment, though somehow never more attractive, as his hands come to rest on the curve of your hips, pulling you towards him without restraint, the front of your body almost flush with his. “I’m not kidding, be serious,” he reprimands as you continue to giggle. “You have no idea how badly I've wanted to. For so long.” 

As your laughter subsides and you take a moment to register the pleading authenticity in his eye, all you can do is nod gently, your hands curled nervously against the plane of his chest. You hear him exhale the breath he’s been keeping captive through parted lips as his feet shift once again until yours are between the gap of his towering stance. You’re so close to him you can smell the soft scent of mint rolling off his neck, sending tingles along your chest as you repel the urge to reach out and press your own lips against the smooth expanse of skin there. 

You’re glad that he doesn’t say anything in this moment, curling a single finger under your chin to tilt your head up until you’re facing him. His eyes are hooded and gentle, searching the lines of your face with lethargy until they land on your lips, his tongue darting out to wet his own in response before he begins to descend slowly towards you. The pace gives you just enough time to not think before his pillow of a pout is cushioned against yours, lips fitting like a hug together as he tilts your head and leans in farther, his hand cupping your jaw and the other squeezes his nervous energy into the flesh of your hip. 

You’ve never felt anything more unfeigned and guileless, and when he pulls away, the only thing that comes out while the back of his knuckle rubs smooth circles into your cheek is the swollen whisper, “My art.” 

If anything could’ve ruined the mood in that moment, it definitely would’ve been that lady from security walking in on your narrow embrace and shouting, “It’s 6 o’clock somewhere, people! Feel inspired on your own time.” 

Cheeks blossoming in embarrassment, you sigh, turning towards the exit where you’re instead tugged backwards into another swift and sweet kiss that leaves you shocked and dazed with roses and gummy bears dancing around your head. “T-Taehyung, we have to--”

“Shh,” he hushes, pecking your lips for the third time, his expression one of savoring as he pulls away and pulls you close. “I’m forming my artist’s opinion.”

“O-Oh,” you stutter, huffing into his chest. “All positive reviews, I assume.” 

He hums contentedly, his lips pressed to the crown of your head before his hand snakes down to grip yours gently, turning to lead you both towards the exit. “Hmm, there’s room for improvement.” 

“Oh, fortheloveof--shut UP.”

~

1. artist taetae is my everything 2. dream glow is my everything 3. i’m lowkey really happy with how this turned out so hey, goodnight everyone

[onthemeander]

A thousand thanks to Psionicsnow for the prompt. It was fun to write such a soft and subtle story. Very sweet and innocent.

Interested in getting your prompt written? Check me out!

Fresh Cut Grass

Everything hurt. Every organ, muscle, bones, joints, cell, and atom felt like it was smothered in gasoline and set ablaze in a tire fire. Her soul was cracked and broken and shattered and she couldn’t scavenge a single iota of energy to try and collect the shards. Instead, her tears carried them away on a wave of sadness rolling down her cheeks. All of it was let loose, laying across the floors and couch of her apartment as she cried.

Moose laid on her legs, pinning them with his warm wrinkly body while watching her with his watery eyes. She clutched the couch cushion to her chest, curling up as tight as possible without kicking her poor basset hound from his perch. Her eyes were burning and swollen as the tears pooled into a large stain across the cushion. Her sobbing was raw, a baser aching sound from her vocal cords that rang in her ears. The silence of her apartment making every sound amplified.

Suddenly, there was a solid knock at her front door. The sound was paired with a taut but gentle voice calling out her name. Moose sat up, ears perked towards the door, tail wagging and starting to pant in excitement. She heard her neighbor insert his copy of her apartment key into the lock. Tentatively the door opened, just enough for her blonde headed attractive neighbor to pop in. His light blue eyes widened as he slipped in through the threshold. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

“Steve. I’m… sorry. Please-“ She gasped out, trying to wave him away while rolling to her side, Pressing her face into the back for her couch. She pressed in as close as possible to he back cushions to quiet her sobs. Her door lock clicked into place, his sneakers squeaked as he quickly crossed her wood floors in only four steps. Even with her eyes closed, she could tell the light was dimming around her as his shadow came over her.

The scent of fresh cut grass, leather and musk wafted off of him. It changed the air altogether, making the stale stagnant sadness that clung all of them be washed into a soothing balm. The combination was so comforting that she started to breathe deeply for the first time since she started crying. The iron grip around her lungs slightly loosen, the sudden freedom set its muscles on fire requiring more cooling air to ease the ache.

A large calloused hand was soothing placed atop the crown of her head. A large warm wight that grounded her racing mind. Her head was manipulated, picked up just long enough for the sound of shuffling to happen. After several seconds, he had placed a rather warm and firm pillow under her head. The smell of grass was stronger now but the pillow felt weird. It was just a bit too stiff like there was a firm structure deep within its batting. Confused, she opens one of her eyes just long enough to realize that her pillow was his lap.

Even with the surprise, she couldn’t stop the tears, forced to close them again as another fit of hiccups broke out. Steve just sat there, still and calm, silently running his broad fingers through her tresses. Her hands, which had been cushioning her head, now gripped large chunks of his old t-shirt between her fingers. Time was suspended as they sat there.

Slowly she felt just enough energy come back to here where she could actually form words. “I’m… I’m sorry. I just…” her voice made a disgustingly wet gurgling noise, cut off by a full body sob. She was sure there were large tear stains cross his right pant leg. Steve said nothing, just rubbed circles into her scalp and random shapes into her back. Moose wined either upset by everything or simply hungry.

She was slowly coming down from the terrifying height of her crying. It felt like it took an eternity and all it shoved into a single second. Everything that was wavy and faded began to come back into focus as the tears slowed. her breathing haltingly leveled out allowing her own lungs to reach her nose, no longer having to be shoved through her mouth.

His sweatpants-clad thighs were burningly sturdy under her temple, as a set of rolled electric blankets, soothing the pulsing ache that had made its home there. Though he was dressed from the gym he was freshly washed, smelling of citrus, herbs and earthy woods. Like he took his run through a springtime forest, dashing through citrus trees, sage bushes and the fresh waters of some nirvanic stream. “Do you want to talk about it?” She could feel his stomach expands against the back of her head as he spoke. A sturdy constant rhythm she could align her own erratic sobbing gasps too.

She couldn’t, not right now, maybe when things were not as raw. “No. I’m sorry but not really.” Moose whined at their feet, his stubby wrinkly front feet prompting him up against the cushion seat. She sniffed and rubbed her eyes, refusing to look anywhere other than the pattern of the sun streaming through the window panes.

Steve remained quiet, supporting her in so many ways, simply breathing and being there. Stroking random shapes into her scalp with his broad callous fingers, his short nails feeling hypnotically heavenly against her pulsing headache.

Her sleeve was already covered in snot, which made her stomach cramp in embarrassment. Steve either didn’t notice or care as I magically materialized a tissue for her to use. “You must think I am ridiculous.”

“No,” His voice sounding so strong and clear, “we all have our times when we need to let everything go.” He kept handing her tissues not one complaining as her nose loudly honked as she blew it. Finally, the last tears rolled down her check.

Giving one last bone achingly deep sigh she rolled onto her back looking up at his handsome face. His hair was wet, starting to curl in the summer humidity. The light bounced softly off his jawline, freshly shaved and washed. Every bid the perfect all-American man that he was partially famous for. She probably looked a mess next to this Adonis yet the look in his eyes was one of pure reverence.

“Okay, I’m good. I’m sorry but I’m fine,” She said, proud of herself for only sniffing once. He had a soft closed mouth smile for her. “So why did you come over Steve? Did you need something?” Finally getting the energy she sat up, head slightly throbbing at the movement. Moose hopped down, woofing slightly in discontent at being forced to leave his perch. Steve let her sit up but kept close by, constantly keeping contact between them.

“Uhhh… No,” His face became a little ruddy, “actually I heard you from my apartment and was concerned.” She flinched at that, pulling into a tight ball, embarrassed and unable to keep touching him. “Oh god, I am so sorry. I’m sorry you had to come over like that.” He, however, seemed to have other ideas. With a gentle insistence, having her lean against his chest, tucking her head under his jaw. Moose was wagging his tail excitedly looking up at them as she had her head protectively tucked into the neck of the super soldier.

“No, No, it’s okay.” He comforted, voice rumbling so close to her ears. Everything was so close and homey. “I want to make sure you are okay. I want to be there for you when you need someone.” His cologne was centralized right above his collar bone, a buttery warm spiced musk that she could stop from greedily inhaling.

They sat there, simply breathing within each other’s space. The air was heated and electric, sparking all of her nerve endings just being in that place. Closing her eyes, she snuggled into the warmth, which was better than any blanket. She was content, ready to milk the moment and etch the memory into her mind permanently. Just below her palm, she could feel the bold beating of Steve’s heart.

Gently he urged her to turn to look directly at him. His eyes were positively sparkling, the color of a pair of Blue Morpho Butterfly wings with the sun streaming through. Every edge around him was softened, a far cry from the hardened edges sculpted into every soldier and hero’s being. “I care about you, you are special to me.”

“I… I umm… I… same?” Oh god, her heart was shoved so tight in throat she wasn’t able to even phrase a response. I’m sorry just started to pour out of her mouth, her skin burning surely as hot and red as a chili pepper. Steve’s eyebrows rose in an almost comically high pose as he held in a soft laugh. His teeth were white and perfectly aligned, putting Arlington to shame, as he lost out to the urge not to chuckle. His cheeks were red as well, flushed and glowing with so much life.

“May I kiss you?” He asked, his voice husky in it’s whispered tone. Her words were caged like a wild pacing tiger in her throat. She just leaned in, hoping that was yes enough. His hands were enormous, cupping her cheek, and tickling the sensitive skin behind her ear.  His aftershave clinging to his freshly shaved face, deep smoky burning that warmed her like the comforting feeling of the first summer campfire with family.

         His lips were as bold and gentlemanly as the rest of him. Every touch of their chaste lips was treated like a soft and sacred act. A sentiment left from a bygone era, something to be cherished. He took no advances, treating kissing, not like a lead up to the main event but the main event itself.

The fresh cut grass smell filled every one of her inhales. Sparking memories of rolling down hills as a kid and jumping through sprinklers as they watered lawns.  It mixed with the minty taste in her mouth leaving her energized and joyous. She ran her fingers up his arm, tucking them just under the cuff of his t-shirt, feeling the curve of his bulging biceps. He wrapped his large arms around her waist, resting them comfortably just above her hips.

The kisses became shorter, less afraid of them ending all together they simply basked at the moment. They shared soft giggles and gasps between kisses, all the joy, and excitement had to come out in any way possible. There were little moments of teeth clashing together, noses smooshing into each other and complete misses that resulted in lips on chins that made everything even more perfect and real. Movies kisses were so sterile, they didn’t prepare you for the true joy of the little mess ups that made it even more exciting.

Pulling away slowly they relaxed in each other’s space. They were breathing each other’s air and enjoying the look of each other’s flushed face. Steve’s hands stroked along her flanks, tickling ever so slightly. His lips were swollen and pink, becoming even redder as he chewed on it. He seemed almost nervous. All she could do was watch as those perfectly white straight teeth peeked out from his lush lips. Looking up she noticed his cornflower colored eyes pinning her with a determined stare.

“Would you like to go on a date with me tonight?” His voice, usually so bold was reduced to a tender whisper. Her breath caught in her throat, the thudding in her chest increased. He cupped her hands between his own, they almost disappear beneath the wide expanse of his palms. Her cheeks ached with the sudden strain of how wide her smile was. Tears threaten to fall again, but the pain was thankfully not accompanying it this time.

“Yes.”

[fiercyy]

Till Death: Chapter 3

Co-authored by @holyfuckabear

Summary: A canon rewrite fic. Seventeen-year-old Ichigo Kurosaki has become a superhero overnight. This entails a lot more oversight than he was lead to believe there would be. Is this his life now? Being stalked by some tiny woman, hell-bent on bossing him around? (For the record: yes.) 

He was five years old when his mother moved the family to Karakura, so he has very few memories of the time before. 

His life changed swiftly. His new preschool was, in a word, monochromatic. There were at least a couple other mixed kids at the other one, but he was the only one here. His mom was happier, that was good. Yuzu wasn’t sick as often, Mom said that being out of the city smog helped. One day he suddenly had a father.

Or maybe that’s just the blur of young memories.

.

. 

It’s been a really long week. He hasn’t been sleeping much, what with his new Soul Reaper duties. Weirdly, Mizuiro’s been getting on his nerves, but he has no idea why. And he’s not really getting this section in Maths, so he’s going to have to do some extra legwork to figure it out. Plus Tatsuki’s been going through something so it’s not like he can ask her, like he usually would.

Also, he lives with a raging maniac. 

Well… another raging maniac, but this one lives in his closet, not down the hall, so it’s twice as annoying and he gets zero respite.

It’s only Wednesday and he feels like he’s counting down the seconds until the weekend. All he wants is some quiet time to himself. He wants to sleep, finish his homework and maybe read something for fun instead of class for a change.

Ichigo’s already reached his threshold for social interactions and he has two days to go. 

He’s not going to survive this week.

.

.

One moment she’s sweetly feigning interest in Keigo’s prattle, the next she’s shouting for Ichigo to pull himself together after having his arm nearly ripped from its socket.

Such is the duality of Rukia. 

The former freaks him out more than the latter.

Ichigo gets used to her. Rukia’s around all the time, she is inconveniently, loudly present. She doesn’t have to say anything. Her existence is loud. He was studying on his bed instead of his desk the other day. She appropriated his desk chair, wheeled it close to the bed and used his spine as a footrest as she blew through his collection of manga. When he complained, she actually shushed him. “I’m at a really good part and you’re distracting!”

“...!”

He’s used to the real her; the pushy, stubborn drill sergeant. He acts on her say-so. It’s the sparkly, girly princess that freaks him out. He has no idea what to do with that. Every day it’s like stepping into the twilight zone and how has nobody noticed how fake it all sounds? He’s the only guy who’s made it out of Plato’s cave. He wants to physically shake his classmates and shout “Don’t you realize it’s all just bullshit shadows on the wall?!”

He doesn’t, but he really feels like it. 

This is what his life has come to.

Normalcy is running around the city in the dead of night, searching for monsters to slay. Normalcy has become acting on orders delivered by text-message and bunny-shaped shadows.

.

.

Normally Rukia wouldn’t fraternize with the humans, but Orihime makes it very hard to keep her distance. She invites her into the inner sanctum of high school girl-dom, a complex set of social systems that Rukia has zero experience with. It’s surprisingly lovely. 

She can be completely genuine with exactly none of them, but it’s still nice.

They eat lunches on the roof, tangential to the boys. They stand at each other’s desks between classes. They escort each other on routine errands, simply for the pleasure of each other’s company.

????

It’s baffling, but fascinating (she’ll never admit it, but it makes her feel warm inside). And mimicking the girls does wonders for the authenticity of her acting.

Orihime looks at her askance every once in awhile, but she seems to understand the principle. She never addresses it in private anyway.

The boys and girls occasionally drift together. This is in part due to Tatsuki and Ichigo’s friendship and in part due to the conventional social mores of the human world that dictate that genders must interact, but never fully integrate. 

She likes Chad, he’s sweet and quiet, clearly very intelligent and has a sparse way with words that she finds refreshing. Keigo is a massive idiot, but there are worse things to be. Mizuiro seems very sweet, but he’s always asking her to help him with schoolwork and tends to sit very close as she badly explains grammar structure.

Ichigo is Ichigo. 

“Rukia, I made cookies for everyone!” Orihime jolts her from her contemplations to remind her that there are worse casts of characters to be among. 

Then she takes a bite and valiantly tries not to spit out the edamame chip cookie. 

.

.

Chad’s a very large young man. He’s also Mexican. He tends to stand out in crowds, particularly in a population like Japan. He’s quiet, so people tend to forget he’s even around. They’ll say things in front of him, thinking he’s not listening. Or worse, they think he’s too stupid to understand what they’re saying. 

He speaks three languages, but whatever. 

So when Ichigo and Rukia run off together for the third time in a week and the guys immediately turn to gossiping hens, he figures no one’s expecting a response from him. He sighs. People should really learn to mind their own business… then again he’s a hypocrite, he’s just not asking his questions out loud.

Whatever.

Maybe his mind’s just under occupied these days, but he’s been contemplating the mysterious case of the delinquent and the new girl. Specifically, with respect to the ghost problem that Ichigo’s been dealing with for as long as he’s known him. It’s not that he’s seen them do anything suspicious, but the Kurosaki clinic was destroyed and the next day Rukia Kuchiki shows up at school? A prissy, perky, pretty girl appears and suddenly Ichigo’s asking her how high he should jump? Chad sees her for what she is, because they’re the same. She’s quiet because she is always listening, her attention is eerily laser focused. 

After school he goes to his part-time job at the library. Today is Wednesday so it’s Reading Circle for the daycare kids whose parents work late. Chad has been slowly making his way through Howl’s Moving Castle, chapter by chapter. It’s taking him twice as long because he reads the chapters in Japanese, then English, but he thinks it’s worth it. He likes Sophie, she’s very sensible. That is a girl for whom words have weight and meaning. 

After that he meets up with some of the guys he’s played a couple gigs with.

“Give him to Chad,” says one, of a supposedly cursed Cockatiel.

Chad sighs, “what’s your name?” he is awfully cute. 

“Yuichi Shibata, what’s your name mister?” And then a metal beam falls on his head.

He’s nothing if not polite though, so he introduces himself.

“Pleased to meet you, I’m Sado Yasutora.” 

.

. 

Rukia is always flexing. She’s always testing her limbs and joints, stretching and pulling at them, trying to find their limits. She feels too big for her skin, too strong for her fragile bird bones. This body is not real but it’s her reality.

The human boy took her powers. She’d only meant to give him a little, just enough to end the fight. Turns out, she miscalculated. And now she’s living on dwindled reserves and the foreseeable future looks like a long, winding wait for her powers to return.

But they will return. Little by little. 

At first, she could feel herself getting stronger by the day. She has recovered enough that she can do the most basic kidou: mild restraints and minimal healing. It’ll probably be months until she’s recovered! Months in the human world, with a boy left to do her work. 

So she flexes, she tests the limits of her strength and gains micrometers where she can. 

In the meantime, at least she’s learning leadership skills. 

.

. 

There’s an adjustment period. They aren’t quite working like a well oiled machine yet. That’s the thing with new partnerships, they have to learn their roles. They’re treading new ground together and some growing pains are to be expected. And then there are some details that turn into unexpected issues. 

.

. 

The can rattles as she shakes it in her hand, the sound makes her heart race. Tatsuki bites her lip, planning her first stroke. The side of the bare building is a blank canvas, her canvas. She wears gloves while she does it. Intent on keeping the evidence off her fingers. A bright splash of orange against white stucco. 

Her mother thought painting classes would be a good enough creative outlet. Don’t get her wrong, it did give her the skills to pull this off. 

A big, orange asterisk. The start of a dandelion. She shakes her can of yellow, setting the orange down. It tips onto its side and rolls deeper into the alley. 

“Shit.” Tatsuki mutters, following the can. 

It stops against the sole of a shoe. Tatsuki’s eyes trail up from the shoe to some legs, then a torso. Her mouth goes dry and she chokes when she sees the face. 

Ichigo, slumped against a dumpster. His eyes are open and glassy. She doesn’t see his chest moving. 

She stands there for who knows how long before her brain gets her body to react. She presses her thumb to his pulse, but all she can feel is her own heart hammering against her thumb. 

“Ichigo.” She quavers, grabbing him by the arms and shaking him. He’s warm, but not very.

“Ichigo!” Tatsuki slaps him across the face. His head flops, limp.

She covers her mouth with her hand, swallowing the whimper that lets loose her tears.

He’s dead. Oh god, he’s dead just like Masaki.

She was supposed to protect him. 

Her hands shake as she reaches for her cellphone. There’s a splash of orange paint on her glove and she stares at it for longer than she should.

She dials, but before it can ring, she hears approaching footsteps.

“Come on and get in there then.” The voice sounds familiar but Tatsuki’s ears are still ringing. 

“Hello, what is your emergency?” 

Tatsuki opens her mouth to speak when she hears Ichigo groan. 

“Ugh, why does my face sting?”

“Ichigo!” She scrambles to check his eyes and throat.

“Get off me, wouldja.” He pushes her off.

“You were collapsed! I thought you were dead!”

“Ma’am, are you still on the line?”

“Thanks, we’re good. Bye.” Tatsuki hangs up. Her gaze skips between Ichigo, who is sitting slumped against the alley wall, and Rukia, who is standing off to his right. “Rukia, when did you get here?”

Rukia swallows, “Oh, I was just passing by!”

If Tatsuki had less adrenaline coursing through her system she might have questioned the validity of Rukia walking around alone at night and just happening to stumble upon them.

“I heard you yelling and I came running!” 

“See, that’s a good samaritan,” Ichigo means for this to sound sincere but it comes off sarcastic. Which is actually how he means it. 

“Why don’t I help you bring him home to the clinic,” Rukia suggests, an ounce too chipper. 

Tatsuki nods numbly and each of them grab one of his arms to sling over their shoulders. They make a comical trio, lumbering along the Karakura streets. Ichigo is utterly fine and has never felt more emasculated. 

He tries to protest, but Rukia shuts him down. “Oh dear, you shouldn’t strain yourself Kurosaki! I’m not very strong, but Tatsuki is. We’ll help you get home safe!”

When he gets home and his father starts gushing over his non-existent injuries, Ichigo honestly contemplates quitting. Being a superhero isn’t worth this. 

.

. 

From there, things go from annoying to maddening.

Everyone seems to have something to say about the ‘hot new transfer student’ and the ginger thug who always seems to be hanging around her. 

Keigo is very proud. 

Mizuiro is overly solicitous with his promises that he’s not flirting with her, that he’s into older women. 

For Ichigo’s part, he’s sure that Rukia is way older than even Mizuiro’d prefer but would happily step aside in favor of their future bliss. 

.

. 

On Thursday Chad brings his new pet to school. None of his teachers bother him about it and at lunch, his friends clamor over the strange bird with the expansive vocabulary. 

Everyone, that is, except for Ichigo and Rukia. 

“Chad,” asks Ichigo, tentatively, “where’d you get the bird.” 

“A guy…” 

This seems like a perfectly reasonable response to Chad, but Keigo is unsatisfied. “Why are you always too lazy to tell the actual story?! Some guy?! What guy? Where? Does it have to do with the car that hit you yesterday? Come on!” 

And so it goes. 

Ichigo continues to stare at the bird through lunch.

“Do you need some help with that?” Mizuiro asks, startling Ichigo out of his revery. But he wasn’t addressing him.

“It’s this infernal juice box!” Rukia exclaims, sounding uncomfortably too like her demanding self. 

Ichigo sighs and takes it from her, pokes a hole with the straw and never lets his eyes stray from the bird. 

Mizuiro throws up his hands in mock defensiveness and shoots Ichigo a sly look before turning back to the one-sided conversation Keigo and Chad are still having. 

“You’re right you know,” Rukia says around the straw. “There is something odd about that bird, but it’s not evil. It’s just lonely.” 

Rukia knows how it feels. Lately she’s been feeling homesick for the 13th Division. 

“We’ll take care of it tonight.” 

“Awesome, I didn’t need to study anyway.” 

“Is that sarcasm?” 

“No ma’am,” he replies, sarcastically. 

“Your friend… is he like you?”

“What do you mean? Mixed?”

“No, you idiot. Can he see spirits?” 

“Not… that I know of.” 

“Do you know him well?” 

“Sure,” Ichigo scratches his nose and contemplates Chad, “Back in middle school I was already attracting a lot of… negative attention ‘cause of my hair. One day I ran into these guys who really meant business. They were gonna mess me up. Then Chad showed up. Ever since, we’ve watched each other’s backs.” 

Rukia turns to look at the giant too.

“He never fights back, just stands there, puts himself between bad guys and whoever they’re trying to hurt. So-” 

“So you fight for him,” Rukia finishes.

Ichigo glances at her out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah.” 

“You’re a good friend, Ichigo.”

“Yeah, I come in handy.” He wouldn’t admit it, but her esteem feeds something inside him. It feels suspiciously like pride. 

.

. 

“What can I do?” 

“Assume the fetal position and stay out of the way!”

And so it goes. Everyone in the Kurosaki household has a role to play. Ichigo gets the shit kicked out of him, Karin and Yuzu get first aid certified and help dad out in the clinic. One of these things may or may not be more useful than the other.

Chad comes into the clinic clutching Yuichi’s cage in a tight fist and slumping against Karin and Yuzu’s shorter statures.

There’s a bruise like a clawed footprint spanning Chad’s entire back, but Karin is staring at the bird.

.

.

Friday morning, Karin’s not at the breakfast table. Yuzu says she’s sick, but Karin’s never been ill a day in her life. There’s a sick feeling that makes him short on breath and nauseated. Worry and suspicion cloud his thoughts.

He knocks on her bedroom door and enters.

Karin is curled up on her side, sweating and clutching the blankets.

“Karin?”

“ICHIGO!” Isshin shouts from downstairs. “Chad is missing!”

Torn, Ichigo glances from Karin to the door and back again.

“Go,” she grits. “Go.”

He does.

He sprints out of the house and soon finds Rukia at his side.

“Any idea where he would go?”

“Not yet.”

“Ichigo.”

“Yeah?”

“Listen to your heart.”

“What?!”

“Like we practiced, feel for the bird’s soul.”

“...Right.”

He tries, he really does. He’s not so good with the sensing yet. He knows something’s wrong when he grasps at a thread, only to find himself running in circles. And then, across the way he spots Karin, slumped against the fence, struggling to remain upright. “Karin, what are you-?”

“Ichigo, I need- I need to tell you something.”

“Karin, you should go back to bed.”

He’s so afraid for her. Something is very very wrong. But one crisis at a time please.

And Rukia’s looking at his sister in that contemplative way that frightens him, like she’s a specimen for study, a code she can crack. He cannot let her dig too deep here, or else-

“Ichigo, take her back now,” Rukia commands. “I’ll go on and find Chad myself.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re in no condition to fight a hollow on your own. I can’t just leave you!”

Rukia purses her lips and says very seriously, “Worry about your sister for now, I can handle everything until you get there. Go, go on, the faster you get her home, the faster you can come help.” She’s about to take off before he stops her.

“Wait. Don’t risk yourself for my sake.”

She smiles at him, “A veteran soul reaper never takes unnecessary chances.”

This would be more reassuring if she hadn’t nearly died saving his life on the day they met.

.

.

Karin is living someone else’s nightmare. She keeps seeing things in flashes. Blood, murder, screams of terror. A red stain soaking the brightness of the morning and dripping in streaks like sunlight. There’s a little boy, a lot like her, trapped in the body of a bird. He doesn’t want to be free either.

He just wants his mom.

“You have to tell him,” she rasps, clutching her brother’s shirt. “Tell him that if he crosses over he can be with her again. His mom. Don’t let him be alone anymore.”

Loneliness so crushing, it stretches out into infinity and throws dust covers over every possibility.

.

.

Whatever senses Rukia has are dulled either by the gigai or her weakened state, so parsing out the soul ribbon belonging to Yuichi is difficult, but eventually she finds the thread.

She ends up on an empty side street when she feels a cold lick of fear slide up the back of her neck. A hollow.

“Mmm, I ordered chicken and I get a steak as well. How fortunate for me. Hello little Shinigami.”

Rukia leaps out of the way just in time to avoid the hands that strike out to trap her.

Well, now or never.

She dodges again and lands on top of it. Mustering every ounce of power she has, she fires a kidou cannon at it’s hunched back.

It works!

Giddy and triumphant she whoops. And ducks out of the way again. He misses her by a hair. She fires another cannon.

Suddenly, the surges of blue light emanating from her palms are joined by fists. And the roars and blasting noises joined by a chorus of cries.

Chad punches the hollow square in the mask and Yuichi screams for him to run away. Can he see it? She wonders, before he breaks out a combo aimed at thin air. That’s a no... He shouldn’t be fighting anyway.

The hollow sets it’s sights on Chad. Rukia acts fast, running at him full tilt and body-checking the young man out of the way of the oncoming attack.

“Thanks,” Chad grunts.

The hollow flails in pain. She took out huge chunks of its hide with her spells, but it soon regains its faculties.

It laughs, “Try as much as you want, you can’t save the boy. He makes pretty good bait, don’t you think?”

Rukia assesses the situation. She’s weaker than she’s ever been, her only allies are a bird in a cage and a blind human who does not want to fight. She doesn’t know his reasons but she can understand that. She just needs to get behind it again, it’ll be vulnerable from the back. She also needs to get some high ground so its mask will be in her sights.

“Chad!” she calls, “Give me a boost!” She doesn’t give him a chance to process or respond before getting a running start at him. Fortunately, he’s a smart young man. She plants her feet in his cupped hands, “2 o’clock!” and vaults into the air.

Rukia sails above the hollow’s head in an arc. She twists in mid-air and at the precise angle where she can see the base of it’s skull she fires the strongest cannon she can muster.

.

.

Ichigo’s arms curl under Karin’s knees and shoulders, he presses her nose into his collarbone so hard she thinks it’ll bend. She sweats and swears. Over his shoulder, like a pin of light in the encroaching darkness, she sees a woman in white. She presses a pale finger to her lips and fixes her in a steely gaze.

There is a ghost that Ichigo cannot see, lurking behind him.

Karin is no longer afraid.

She’s terrified.

.

.

The hollow twists at the last second but it’s a critical hit. It staggers forward and drops to its knees, giving Rukia and Chad time to regroup.

Rukia’s breath is ragged from exertion. She doesn’t have the energy reserves necessary to end this fight, but she can stall long enough for Ichigo to arrive.

They make a good team, Chad and Rukia, it takes very little verbal communication to effectively coordinate their attacks. He tosses, she twists, they deal blow after blow. She wonders if it will be enough.

The trapped spirit cries in his cage. He pleads with the hollow, even as they have him on the ropes. His fear has solidified into an unyielding thing. It grips at him, drags him down, prevents him from making a single move.

All the while the hollow takes advantage. This one likes to talk. He brags about the night they all died. He croons that Yuichi’s mother looked so beautiful with scarlet in her hair. He tells them that in her final moments she did not beg for her son, but for him to stop. He’d known many women like her, but nothing tastes as good as your last meal.

Chad’s stomach roils at the implications. He burns to shut him up.

So Chad throws all of himself into one final punch. The white mask cracks.

.

.

Karin does not know why it’s this spirit with whom she feels this strong a kinship. She doesn’t know why the last vestiges of her denial are being ripped away from her and shredded before her eyes.

What she knows is this:

Her life is wrong.

How did she get here?

.

.

Ichigo considers his begging sister.

They’re almost home.

He turns around.

.

.

The hollow shatters into pieces, flying apart and dissolving into nothing.

Chad has become fixated on his fist. He can’t look away. He is both intoxicated and frightened of his own strength. He just slayed a dragon. He just conquered an army. He summited a mountain. He has done the impossible with just this hand. Once, he swore to his Abuelo that he would never raise it.

He wonders if Abuelo would consider this his own defense.

Never raise a hand until you have extended it.

But a monster cannot reach back.

He’s made the right decision, but it does not feel like a victory.

“Are you alright?” he asks both Yuichi and Rukia. The latter stares at him in shock, then calculation.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says with her eyes. He nods.

Moments later, Ichigo arrives on the scene with Karin still in his arms. He sets her on her feet and looks around, searching for impending danger.

“It’s over,” Karin assures him breathily.

He looks to Rukia for confirmation, she nods too.

Karin approaches Yuichi and Ichigo follows close behind, at the ready in case of a fall. She kneels in front of the bird and Ichigo falls over himself trying to keep her upright.

“I’m fine,” improbably, Karin laughs and pushes his hands away. “Hi,” she greets the bird, more politely and patiently than she’s ever greeted a living human.

“Hello,” perhaps Yuichi senses their kinship too.

“My brother is going to take care of you now, okay?”

“Can I… Can I stay with Chad? He’s nice.”

Karin agrees, “if you want to stay, you can.” Rukia opens her mouth to argue, but at Ichigo’s quelling look, she silences herself. “I understand, I’d want to stay too. But if you move on, you can see your mom again. And there’s a whole other world waiting for you. You won’t have to be a bird anymore.”

“I don’t mind being a bird…”

“I know you’re scared,” Chad joins Karin on the curb. They make a strange picture: a giant and a tiny tomboy kneeling and conversing with a cockatiel on the side of the road, flanked by two schoolkids with grim expressions. “But everything will be okay.”

“And I’ll get to see her again?”

“Yeah,” Karin smiles and thinks of Masaki. “I’m sure she’s been waiting for you all this time.”

“Okay,” Yuichi agrees, “I’m ready then.”

Rukia pulls on her glove. Ichigo braces himself for a blow that doesn’t come. Instead, she places her hand above his heart and gives him a gentle push.

Ichigo falls out of his body gracefully. Chad catches him before he falls.

“Yo.”

“Hi.”

“...Hey.” Karin says breathlessly, looking not at his body, but at his soul. For the very first time.

Ichigo has five konsos under his belt, but each time is just as brilliant as the last. He gently presses the hilt of his sword to Yuuichi’s forehead (or whatever a bird has?). Aquamarine light guilds the cage and the next moment Yuuichi is gone. The bird is just a bird.

.

.

It’s Friday night and Ichigo just wants to sleep.

But he’s got homework.

He’s mentally exhausted, he’s hit his threshold, he just wants to be alone. Monday looms out in front of him like a spectre. It’s so far away but he knows he’ll blink and the reset button will be hit.

He taps his pencil against his notebook as he fixates on the next problem. Three more and then he can get back to the half-read novel lying cover-side down on the corner of his desk.

Rukia is sitting on his bed, reading Volume 2 of Super Kaiju Maids (“Maids who transform into giant monsters to fight EVIL!”), her back against the wall, feet peeking over the edge. Her head tilts sideways and eyes widen at a particularly suspenseful part. She squeaks and gasps with the twists of the plot.

Ichigo sighs, he’ll finish tomorrow.

He grabs his novel and rolls his desk chair closer to the bed. He leans back and puts his feet up, his left ankle, brushing Rukia’s thigh.

They read side by side well into the night.

[randombitchsince1996]

When the Nightingale Calls: Chapter 2

Characters: EXO, Ja Eunsae (OC), NCT

Genre: Fantasy, Dystopian, Supernatural, Action, Romance

Warnings: Character Death, Violence, Gore (More in Future Chapters)

Word Count: 2,453

IF YOU WANT TO KNOW MORE CHECK OUT MY MASTERLIST

An old man entered, his body shook and quivered like an old house that was settling into its misshapen structure. His hands were swollen from years of fieldwork, the arthritic joints grasping onto the hand-woven basket as best they could. His skin was so tan it looked as though the color had seeped into him, right to his bones. He walked slowly being forced to stop next to Lucas and Sooyoung, a private that was not part of my team. They quickly lifted the loose cloth examining everything that was held inside of it. They both pulled away around the same time, nodding to each other letting the old man stumble past. 

His offering had passed the examination, it was fit to give to the emperor. 

This was the last day of unity, it had been four days of civilians bringing in offerings as gifts to him. It had been four days of me standing on the balcony in the throne room watching as person after person arrived to drown him in their hard work. He sat on his golden throne, in a room embellished in the fine mineral, guarded by his military and guards; as he was given crops, livestock, and anything the public could make him. He was stealing from those less fortunate than him, it made me sick.

It took all the strength I had to not make faces of disgust every time the vile ruler made the elderly bow before him as he stole from them. But I couldn’t look away, it was my job to make sure none of the people entering were a threat to him. It was also the job of the rest of my team and another group, as well as the palace guards. I could see Johnny set and poised by the doors. He was tasked with letting the civilians in and out, he stood stoic looking as he would look on any other day; his back stiff, face blank, and body tall. He could see Lucas’ face from where he stood while I could only see my private’s back. 

He was set to check everything that came in and make sure it was safe. When he wasn’t examining the gifts, he was standing at attention. His green military shirt sitting perfectly across his broad shoulders, his hands clasped behind his back, his head staring straight ahead. He was playing his part well too, he was the only one I was worried about. The rest of my men were on the balcony with me. We all were set apart at equal intervals so no matter where you looked we were there, watching. Tied curtains stood between us and I was at the very end; Taeyong stood to my left, we all stood in order of rank. 

Hansol was reported to have left late last night and our plan was in motion. We had a citizen who was open to our cause, Kikwang. He was part of the lower class in our society and he would sometimes come and help at our shooting ranges for extra money. He was reliable and good-natured, and most importantly he was willing to put his life on the line so we could stand a chance against a cruel ruler. He would carry in a basket that seemed to hold eggs but in reality, we were able to sneak bombs inside of them. All we needed was for them to pass by Sooyoung with no problem. 

Yes, the decision was risky, we had no clue who would be injured in the process, or how large the blasts would be. Even though Jaehyun was a master with pyrotechnics the little adjustments he had to make here and there to disguise everything made the outcome questionable. But we had to hope that in the blast our true target would go down. 

The plan was littered with imperfections as we only had a couple of days to change everything we had originally planned. We knew that Kikwang was noble with his loyalties but he was a civilian. He was not trained with bombs, grenades, he wasn’t even trained in combat. Who even knew if his ability to play the nonchalant peasant was up to par. We could get caught so easily. One slip up and we were done for, but with all the possibilities we had a backup plan and it was me. 

If anything were to go wrong I would be the one to shoot. I felt the weight of my P320 as it sagged lightly against my hip. If I needed to grasp it and shoot I could. I was placed a bit behind where the emperor was set but it made it far easier for me to take an unsuspecting shot if need be. If it came to that I would be the one punished. My men would be safe and most importantly their reputation would not be besmirched. I shift once more. They had their orders to stay stoic, play their part, and let me do the dirty work. It was best for me to go down than for all of them to go with me. 

I grimaced seeing the elderly man practically collapse in a shaky attempt at a bow after he had given his basket to the guards standing next to the emperor. He needed help to get back on his feet, I felt my insides twist at the sight. I could see red just watching the scene unfold before me. This man should not have to give up his hard work to a fat man who sat on a throne of gold, it was disgusting. I held my composure nonetheless, playing my part as well. He was escorted out and the ceremony continued on without issue. 

The more people walked in the more on edge I became, where was Kikwang? I could practically feel Taeyong next to me winding up tighter and tighter with each passing person. Something was wrong. The energy in the room was frazzled and stripped, as though we all could feel something was off. He should have come through those doors already. My clenched fingers itched to reach for my gun but I refrained from the action. 

Then it happened, the double doors opened and there was Kikwang being held tightly by two palace guards. His already wide eyes blew up even wider at the sight of the grand hall laid before him.

 His basket was gone and he tried to cool off his features, but it was too obvious how on edge he was; his lack of training was all too noticeable. I wanted to smack myself for thinking this would work at all. He was dragged before the emperor dropped on his knees harshly before the larger of the two guards swiftly grabbed at his arms, restraining him further as he kneeled awkwardly before the emperor. I was almost thankful that I could not see the emperor’s face. My fingers inched towards the gun strapped to my hip. 

Fingertips touching the rough surface, nerves jumping as I watched the interaction carefully. I knew that at any moment Kikwang would rat me out. That was the protocol. If he were to get captured, say I did it, I put him up to it, this was all on me and nobody else. I knew Taeyong, in particular, loathed the idea. He hated that it would fall on me. That I would take the bullet for this. But it was my idea, my plan, and my loyalty that led to this whole ludicrous idea in the first place. So if anyone was to fall for it, it would be me. My other generals weren’t too fond of the idea either, but they had their orders and they would follow them through.

My fingers itch for the trigger, I finally feel my hand slip around the grip and I pull it up a bit. My eyes still glued to the panicked Kikwang. His lips part and I see the way “ja” begins to fall from his lips. The next moment happens too fast. Too fucking fast. 

A loud scream roars through the room, all eyes shoot to the front of the throne room where Lucas is charging at Kikwang. His usual silly demeanor is gone, he’s a man on a mission. His eyes are dark, brows furrowed, and I see the gun in his own hands wobble as he pulls it up ready to aim. I can barely process when Johnny hesitates with his own weapon when Johnny’s finger pulls the trigger when the bullet goes shooting through the air and Lucas goes down. 

I see the blood pool and spread around my private. I feel something inside me drop, crack, bleed open at the sight. It feels slowed. Everything does, I see Johnny’s instant regret. He was doing his job, but Lucas isn’t moving. My eyes burn and I try to swallow the sudden remorse fast. I need to do this now. I whip the gun up quickly trying to ignore my swirling thoughts and intense emotions. My steady fingers curl around the trigger, one eye open, the other shut, I land on my target then feel pain burst down the middle of my spine. The gun falls from my shaking fingers and slams into the tiled floor far below.

I have no time to react, no time to process that our plan went down in flames. I whip around staggering only a little as I come face to face with Hansol. He was supposed to be gone. He strikes at me again, hoping to get me to go down but I dodge the attack swiftly. My fingers slip over the handle of my combat knife and I pull it free. He comes for me once more. His wide eyes cold, he quickly pulls his knife out too. I’m unable to charge because the motion is so smooth. He lunges and I spin out of his grasp once more, my back slams into the railing of the balcony and I realize I’ve made a mistake. 

In a second he’s on me, his hips pinning me to the railing. His free hand gripping my wrist too tightly so I can’t maneuver my knife. My torso leans away from him and I hang precariously over the edge. He could easily shove me over and end me right then and there. The open air behind me back is nauseating, the image of Lucas’ body motionless and lying in a pool of its own blood sets my gears into overdrive. I can’t let what he did go to waste. He did that so my name wouldn’t be revealed, but with the way, this was going that was already foolish. It was clear I was screwed no matter what. 

Hansol smiled at me. His knife-wielding hand rested against my collarbone. The cool and sharp tip pressed hard into my flesh, tearing skin ever so slightly. My free hand held onto the railing so tightly the knuckles went white, the adrenaline pumping through my veins making my palms slick. If I let go I would surely tumble down to my death, so I held on tighter feeling the pressure pull at my muscles. He pressed in harder, cold smile turning into a lethal sneer.

“I never liked you, General Ja,” the knife tip pierced my skin. Hot blood dripped down my chest, and I swallow hard. My gaze didn’t waver though, I felt a tornado of emotions swallow me whole but I wouldn’t waver to this bastard.

“The feeling is mutual General Ji,” I put as much venom into his proper title as I possibly could. But he pushed me farther back and I feel my stomach drop. My fingers slipped a bit and I tried readjusting my grip but I can tell this won’t end well for me. My savior comes at that moment, Taeyong’s body comes crashing forward. He slams into Hansol so hard the general goes flying and they both tumble to the ground. I push myself forward with the momentum that almost shoved me off the ledge. It only takes me a second to get a hold of myself as I lunge forward to help Taeyong. 

I quickly pull him up and move to slip behind Hansol but a familiar set of clicks echo through the hall. I freeze in my place, I see Hansol’s lip turn into a smirk. I turn my head only slightly to see that Jaehyun and Taeil have their guns turned on me and Taeyong. My fingers loosen their hold and I let my knife drop down, hitting the floor with a sharp clank. I can only assume that everyone else who can see us has their weapons aimed at us too. Fighting is pointless, we both drop down to our knees and wait for what is to come. 

Hansol shoves himself onto his feet and I feel his hands caress my cheek softly. They drag along the length of my face chills run through my body and goosebumps rise. The second his fingers reach my hairline they dig in, pulling the tight strands loose, painfully, I bite down on my tongue. I can hear Taeyong breathing hard, I can see the way his hands clench and unclench behind his back. Taeyong’s temper was wavering and shaking but even if he snapped it was useless. He and I were both going down for this, and Lucas was still lifeless below. 

“I can’t wait for you to join your little friend down there,” Taeyong snaps and lunges. A round is fired and he staggers collapsing. I move quickly pressing my fingers into the wound on his shoulder. It isn’t a deadly wound and I thank my third and fourth in command for aiming anywhere but his heart. I feel his blood soak my fingers as I press in hard, he shakes and groans. All the anger from moments ago is faded replaced by a hazy exhaustion. He parts his lips and our eyes meet. I want to cry, but I don’t. 

We failed so horribly. The emperor isn’t dead but my private is, Lucas is gone. That fact alone makes me feel raw. But now Taeyong is going down with me and is injured to top it off. His blood runs hot across my fingers, we failed so horribly. I blink hard trying not to cry. I won’t let them see me cry. Even if I get executed for this treason, I will not cry. I breathe in sharply and push harder, Taeyong’s gasp is strangled and clipped before he closes his eyes and goes still.

We failed. 

[everythings-koreanpop]

New in Town (Part 1)

Word Count: 1,980

Characters: JB (GOT7) & Ae Chu (OC)

Genre: Fluff

A/N: My bias wrecker is wrecking me more when I’m writing this

MASTERLIST

A new life, a new beginning. Ae Chu wanted to get away from her hometown and have a new start at life. Moving to a bigger city in a new country was always her dream. Ae Chu had been studying the new language for a few months, although she was learning faster than most people, she still needed to learn more of the advanced structures of the language. Hokkaido, Japan was her first choice, not Myeongdong in Seoul, South Korea. But after sometime of comparing college tuition and open jobs and apartments, Ae Chu chose to live in Myeongdong.

With a cardboard box in her arms and a couple duffle bags behind her, Ae Chu stood looking up at her new apartment building. She wanted to be independent, she could have lived on campus for her sophomore year but she’d still need to pay for the boarding.

“Excuse me, miss?” A voice interrupted her thoughts. Turning around to look at the man who had made her heart jump, she looked up at his face hiding underneath the black hat he wore. Dark brown hair, almost jet black, piercings on both ears, his skin a soft tan. “Miss?”

Ah! Fuck, I stared too long!

“I’m sorry, ah, can I help you?” Ae Chu said softly in Korean. Her cheeks began to flush red.

“Actually, I was going to ask if you needed help. Are you staying in this apartment?” The way his voice sounded as it traveled to her ears were like heaven.

“Oh yeah, I’m staying here, fourth floor actually…” She responded, her face beginning to feel hot as she realized she told a complete stranger private information.

“Cool, I live on the same floor. Uh, would you like me to help with your stuff?” He asked.

Ae Chu would have declined the handsome man standing before her but she was already grabbing her duffle bags behind her and started walking to the buildings front doors.

“So, you’re a student at the University near by?”

Ae Chu nodded her head, “Do you go there too?”

“Yeah, I’m in my last year. Majoring in music. You?”

“Oh that’s cool. I’m a sophomore in the food department specializing in baking.”

The man smiled, they finally made their way to the elevator. Ae Chu pressed the fourth floor button and set the box she had in her arms down on the flood. The man followed her inside and set the bags down too, stuffing his hands on his jeans pocket and leaned against the cold mirrored walls. A silence stuck around like a sore thumb.

“Ah! I forgot the introduce myself!” He gasped, taking off his cap and clipping it to the belt hole of his pants. “My name is Im Jaebum, most people call me JB.” He stuck his hand out, his long slender fingers adorned with a few silver rings.

“Seong Ae Chu, nice to meet you Jaebum,” she smiled, letting her hand softly wrap around his. Warm and soft.

Jaebum cleared his throat, Ae Chu could have sworn she saw his cheeks turn pink. Finally the elevator bell rang, Ae Chu and Jaebum grabbed the box and bags, Ae Chu leading out first from the moving room, Jaebum trailing behind her. They reached her room and Jaebum snickered,

“I guess we’re neighbors, I’m right here,” He pointed to room 402.

Ae Chu didn’t know what to say, the fact that she was living next to a handsome guy or the fact that she needs to visit the university today and get a few papers from the school office. She opened her new apartment door and set the box on the open desk near her bed. Jaebum also placed the duffel bags at the foot of her bed.

“So I guess I’ll see you around. If you need anything, you know where to find me,” Jaebum gestured to the right side of her room where the bed was with a smile.

As he was about to exit her apartment, Ae Chu walked up behind him and cleared her throat to get his attention. Jaebum turned to face her, Ae Chu caught the scent of his cologne when he turned around, causing the air to brush the few strands of hair away from her face.

“I was thinking if you could possibly come with me to the university and show me where the faculty room is on campus? I need to go there and pick up a few documents before I enter the semester,” Ae Chu informed, tugging at the ends of her black hair.

“Yeah sure, just give me five minutes, I need to get a few things from my room and give it to one of my professors.”

The two both smiled at each other and Jaebum left her apartment. Ae Chu jumped around her apartment and grabbed her phone to text one of her friends.

“Hey, Byeol! I’m finally in Korea. Sorry I couldn’t text you when I landed, I had so much on my mind. But anyways, we should meet up later this week!”

“Ae Chu! I could have picked you up from the airport!”

“It’s fine! I caught a taxi to the apartment and I met someone that goes to the same university as us.”

“Really?! Who?!”

“I’ll tell you later! He’s pretty cute!”

“HE?!”

Ae Chu closed her phone and quickly cleaned up her makeup in the bathroom, ruffling up her hair. There was a knock on the door and opened it,

“Ready?” Jaebum asked.

“Yeah!”

The both of them headed down the apartment hall and to the elevator. Jaebum walked down with his hands behind his back, he wore his cap backwards now, the cologne more prominent than it was five minutes ago. Ae Chu smiled and looked at his side profile. He really was indeed handsome.

“Since it’s almost lunch, you wanna grab some food after you get your documents?” Jaebum asked, his hand ran over his stomach. “I know a great burger joint near by. My friend can give us a few dollars off.”

“Oh! Yeah, food sounds good right now!” Ae Chu complied, her mind now thinking of more things, getting documents, eating, and hanging out with a possible new friend.

“I don’t mean to be rude or anything but you’re not from Korea, right? You kinda have a faint accent.”

Ae Chu laughed a bit, “You guessed right. I was born in Hawaii, my mother is full Korean, dad’s mixed with Japanese and Chinese.”

“Why’d you decide on Korea, then? I would think that if you were majoring in food the States would have a wider opportunity.”

“Well, I’m more interested in Asian cuisine but mostly in the baking. You see, I only moved to Korea because I wanted to experience something different and have a new start, you know?” Ae Chu informed, following Jaebum alongside the back alleyways, taking short cuts here and there. She hesitated for a bit before saying, “I don’t really plan on staying in Korea though. I’ll probably move to the States after I get my degree.”

There was a small pause before either of them spoke again. They still walked side by side, Ae Chu looked around the alleys she had walked through. The smell of food filled the area, small stores were bustling with customers.

“Maybe you might change your mind and stay a bit longer after you graduate,” Jaebum suggested.

Ae Chu looked up at Jaebum who still pressed forward but his face was turned the other way. She could see the tips of his ears burn show a shade of soft red, Ae Chu playfully slapped his arm.

“Aw come on! It’s going to be a few years before I’ll actually move. Don’t be so emotional, plus, we just met so it’s still a bit awkward, you know?” She said her last words slowly, not sure how her new friend would take her comment.

Jaebum turned back to her, his face grew a small grin and chuckled, “Well, let’s do our best at being friends. I feel like we can become closer!” His hand landed on Ae Chu’s shoulder, giving her a bigger smile than the one he showed a few seconds ago.

Ae Chu and Jaebum continued to stolled for a few more minutes until they reached the university. Jaebum lead her halfway across the campus to the student center where the faculty and staff had their offices.

“Here’s where you’re probably going to need to get those documents,” Jaebum informed as he opened the door for her.

“Hello,” Ae Chu greeted as a few of the professors inside turned to see who was walking in, “I’m here to pick up a few documents from Professor Junho, is he here by any chance?”

“Ah yes! I’m over here!” The teacher waved his hand up high, he sat at his desk, papers nicely stacked upon one another, his cubicle walls adorned with pictures Ae Chu assumed were his family. “So you’re Seong Ae Chu, right?”

She nodded her head, offering her hand to greet him. “Glad to meet you. I was a bit worried that I might have gotten the dates wrong, I’m still a bit jetlagged and thought today was Wednesday.”

Professor Junho smiled, showing his pearly white teeth, “Well, I’m happy to tell you that it’s Thursday and you’re just on time,” He looked over at Jaebum who was standing behind you. “I see you met Im Jaebum, he’s a great student, good in all his classes. If only he could participate in helping me assist a few of my english classes.”

“Hey now, Junho. I offered my help, you just rejected it because you knew the other students would find me more fascinating than learning about American writers and all that.” Jaebum now walked to the professor’s desk and leaned against the edge, picking up a pen and twirling it around his fingers.

“Ah that’s right, the papers.” Professor Junho shuffled around his desk, opening up drawers. Although he seemed to be neat and tidy, it was probably just for show to make an impression upon a new student. “Here it is!” He pulled out a set of papers from an envelope, looking through them to make sure that they were the ones Ae Chu needed to look over and sign. “Now, I hope that the school will be comfortable enough for you. Although Korean is your second language you should know that the pace for the classes you’re taking won’t slow down so if you’re in need of assistance you can always ask me or ask Jaebum, here.” Professor Junho went on about the documents in the packet and it seemed like he would never stop talking.

“Hey, Junho. I think it’s time that we start heading off. It’s still our break until the semester starts in a couple days, so let us have our freedom now.”

The professor scoffed and waved the two of you off, “Alright, alright. You kids go off now, then.”

Ae Chu and Jaebum headed out of the teacher’s office and got off campus. Ae Chu looked over at Jaebum, “So how about that burger joint you were talking about?” finding herself getting hungry.

“Yeah! And maybe while we’re at it maybe we should clean up your Korean,” Jaebum said, trying to hold back a laugh.

“Yah!” Ae Chu slapped his arm playfully, “It’s not that bad is it?!”

Jaebum didn’t say anything and kept walking, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Yah!” Ae Chu ran after him laughing.

<<END of New in Town: Part 1>>

[wunderlass]

Smoke & Mirrors Chapter 31 - Many Paths to Reach Death

His captors think him defeated, but even Odin doesn’t know the secrets Loki holds. Before long, he’ll be free, events set in motion by Frigga’s best intentions and Loki’s worst instincts. He’s seen his future, and nothing is going to stop him from stealing it. Loki/Darcy, M rated

You can also read on AO3 or FFNet.

I should be sleeping but instead I'm updating, so my apologies for any errors. I wanted to get this chapter posted and I hope it makes sense.

“I must go after him.” Loki didn’t look thrilled at the idea, and Darcy didn’t blame him. Even though Thanos had passed through the portal alone, it still wasn’t a fair fight between the pair of them.

“There are other people who can do that,” she said.

Frigga was already sending ravens out into the battle. “This does not have to be your fight,” she agreed. “Thor will return, and he can defeat Thanos with Mjolnir.”

“That still leaves us with the problem of his army,” said Jane. “We should focus on our plan to cripple them; this is an opportunity, while he’s gone.”

“What is this plan?” Frigga asked, and they briefly explained it. By the time they’d finished, two figures had returned to the Tower on speeders: Nat and Thor.

“How long since he passed through?” was Thor’s first question.

“Minutes,” said Frigga. “Not long enough to even reach the Palace, and it would take him some time to determine where the Tesseract is hidden, if he can find it at all.”

“Yet we don’t know what weapons he had with him,” Loki said. “And his specialty is torture. Whatever we intend to do, we must hurry.”

“I have no response from your father, and it worries me.”

“He is acting the general, Mother,” said Thor, “and that means he cannot leave his men if they need his guidance. He trusts you to do what is needed.”

“Then I must return to Asgard,” she said. “Only my authority will gain us access to the chambers and mobilize the guards if we need to.”

“And I will come with you,” Thor volunteered immediately.

“No,” she replied gently. “This mission requires stealth. Your prowess is best used here, where you can replace my post. Protect the portal.”

“Then I am coming with you,” said Loki. His words sounded empty, as if he’d locked all of his fear away somewhere inside, but he couldn’t summon anything to replace it.

“Yes. I taught you how to fight, and how to weave illusions—we will work well together.”

“This means you are relieved of your vow to protect Jane,” said Thor. “For now. She will remain here with me.”

Loki nodded his understanding.

“We can work on his army, can’t we Darcy?” Jane asked.

“You don’t need me for that, you need Tony.”

“What’s this?” asked Nat, and once more they explained what they were trying to do with FRIDAY. “I can pass the message onto Tony. He can get JARVIS on the problem too. Your help might be needed, though, Darcy, so be ready for messages on his systems.”

“Then we must leave,” said Frigga. “We have laid our plans as best we can.”

“But you don’t even have any proper weapons!” Darcy protested.

“They are plenty on Asgard I can retrieve. Not least my throne.”

Loki and Frigga stepped into the center of the helipad while the rest of the group gathered around the edge again. The surface had been scarred by the repeated opening of the bridge, the whirlwind it brought carving a geometric pattern into the concrete. Tony would bitch about it for weeks, but it meant they knew exactly where not to stand to avoid being dragged into the portal.

Jane was the one in control of the apparatus to open the bridge, and Thor hovered close to her protectively, while Nat and Darcy stood closer to the door that led back into the tower.

Everyone’s focus was on the machine gearing up, spinning so fast it blurred, and the rushing noise that meant the bridge was about to open.

A shadow appeared on the ground at Darcy’s feet, and it didn’t even register that this wasn’t her shadow—that there was something above her casting it—until Nat yelled and shoved her out of the way.

She got a glimpse of Nat tangling with a Chitauri, aiming her pistol at its cranium, as Darcy rolled across the concrete. She collided with something, and she’d only just looked up to realize it was Loki’s feet, before the wind came.

It all disappeared, the world swallowed by a blinding light, the rushing becoming a roar and a lurch in her stomach.

She screamed, a yip that was silenced as the world changed around her. They were in a tunnel of light, stars and space rushing past them, entire galaxies bypassed in the blink of an eye. It was a better method of travel then the last time Loki had moved her between worlds, but the tunnel felt too open, like there was nothing keeping them inside it except the flimsy, transparent light streams.

She landed on the ground. Hard. More bruises to the ones she’d just gained—though thankfully she’d avoided grazes by having most of her skin covered up. Now, there didn’t seem much chance of a graze happening, not when the surface she was lying on was smooth as glass.

“Oh shit,” she murmured. She lifted her head, reaching up one shaky hand to push her glasses back into place, as she took in the vibrant colors of the bridge she lay on, which shone like it had been polished. The sky above was dark, stars twinkling in the night sky, but she could also see them in peripheral vision. The sky surrounded the bridge. At least two moons hung above them, one crescent, one almost full. They were reflected in the water below, which she could hear lapping somewhere in the distance.

At one end of the bridge, further away than she was comfortable with, a golden city also shone against the darkness, spires and towers rising against the black. The buildings all appeared to be on cliff tops, and the foaming water of many waterfalls reflected the moonlight.

Was that buildings floating? And rotating?

“Darcy, we’re not in Kansas anymore,” she murmured to herself.

“It appears we have a stowaway,” said Frigga with a hint of amusement, holding out a hand to help Darcy to her feet.

“It wasn’t my fault,” she grumbled, stretching her limbs tentatively. Oh, she was going to have bruises on her bruises. “Stupid Chitauri.”

She got a glimpse of that sky again, and her stomach flipped. Once again, she found herself in another realm, light years away from home.

“We must send her back,” said Loki, and there was a definite thread of concern in his voice. Or was it panic? “She is not safe here, not when we intend to confront Thanos.”

“She’s in no more danger on Asgard than she is on Midgard,” Frigga replied. “And we do not have the time to be—oh Norns!” The last words came out in a shocked whisper as she took in what lay behind them.

They were almost at the end of the bridge, and it culminated in the skeleton of a spherical structure which was still being constructed. In the center, the part seemed to be most completed, a small, stepped dais rose and was crowned with machinery. It wasn’t entirely like the device they were using on Asgard, but it wasn’t hard to figure out they shared a joint purpose.

At the foot of the dais a crumpled figure sat, his robes stained with blood.

“Heimdall, who did this?” Frigga rushed to the man, who was attempting to push himself upright. The answer of who seemed obvious to Darcy, but the queen was distracted in putting pressure on the wound.

Heimdall was dark-skinned—not the only such soldier Darcy had noticed among the Asgardians—and exceptionally good looking, which seemed to be another common trait. So good looking that she noticed it even as he bled out. His bright, amber eyes marked him out as inhuman more than any other Asgardian she’d met. Thor had once told her those eyes allowed Heimdall to see what was happening on every realm.

“Thanos,” he croaked, a voice that would have seemed deep and soothing at any other time. “There was too much chaos on Midgard for me to follow his movements.” Even now he spoke slowly, authoritatively, like the possibility of his death was no emergency.

“We need the healers,” Frigga instructed Loki, and he summoned a raven while she tenderly removed Heimdall’s two-horned helmet.

“It is not a bad wound,” Heimdall continued. “But he took my sword.”

“So he has a weapon,” Frigga mused. “We must move swiftly.”

“Go,” Heimdall urged. “The healers will be here soon, and your mission is more important. He has already reached the palace, and is slaughtering all who cross his path so they may lead him to the vault.” His grim stare was fixed in that direction, and Darcy followed it. The shining path of the bridge formed a straight road all the way to the palace gates.

“We could open the bridge and bring more warriors here,” Loki suggested. “To reduce the danger Thanos presents.”

“We cannot afford to bring any back from Midgard,” replied Frigga.

“I did not mean from Midgard.”

“Then where?” Frigga asked, mystified.

“Jotunheim.”

Heimdall gave a dry laugh that ended in a hiss and a wince. “I would never allow it, even if it were possible. The Bifrost is not at full strength—we have only been able to complete the connection with Midgard when they have opened a portal at their end. But if the jotuns were to find Asgard so undefended, they would sack it.”

“No, they wouldn’t,” Loki insisted. “They are under my command, as king, and they know they would suffer to disobey me.”

“Loki, you no longer have the Casket,” Frigga reminded him, guessing at the weapon he used to keep the jotuns in line.

“You could return it to me, and I would have another tool to use against Thanos.”

“I could not if I wished to, not here on Asgard. And as Heimdall says, the bridge will not open.”

“It will; it is repaired on Jotunheim.”

“It’s a decision I cannot make in the absence of the king,” Frigga said.

“Cannot, or will not?”

Frigga shook her head. “Above all, I must protect Asgard. We must go!”

“Mother, there is a quicker way to the weapons vault. I can take us directly into the palace.”

She opened her to mouth to say something, then thought better of it. “It is meant to be protected from such travelers.”

Loki gave an elegant one-shouldered shrug, and Frigga took his hand with a tut, reaching out her free one to Darcy.

Darcy took hold, closed her eyes, and prayed it would be over quickly.

The journey—that squeezing, vomit-inducing, motion, certainly seemed to be shorter this time, and the after-effects were lessened. When the pressure eased, she opened her eyes, to find herself in a dark, stone-walled corridor. Sparsely distributed flaming torches set in the walls provided the only light.

“Darcy,” Loki whispered, “Because I cannot leave you here and know you will be unscathed, you will need to come inside with us. This means I must cloak you, so you will not appear to Thanos’ eyes.”

“Cool,” she said, more casually than she felt. It was what he’d done on the helipad during the battle, and she wasn’t going to argue with the tactic. Thanos would spot her as the weak link immediately and go for her. “If I’m invisible, and I get the opportunity, should I trip him up?”

“No!” Loki insisted.

“You sure?” She was trying for playful, trying to ignore the horrors of what they’d seen and what inevitably lay ahead of them.

He took her arm, gently, tugging until she turned to face him, and there was fear in his eyes again. “Promise me you will stay away from him,” he demanded.

“Okay, I swear. I’m not an idiot.”

“I do not think you are. But you have shown a talent for recklessness that Thor would be proud of.”

“I think you mean ‘courage’,” she mumbled. “But I really don’t have any plans on seeing Mistress Death again any time soon. Good enough?”

Frigga pulled her two, curving swords from the sheath on her back and gestured them forwards. They crept along the corridor until it branched, and they turned left. At the end, a set of thick, stone doors, wide and high enough to drive a truck through, stood ajar.

The bodies of fallen guards lay beside them, their armor splintered and their blood thick on the ground.

A dim room lay beyond the doors, one stone path lined by streams, before the path split into the spokes of a wheel and disappeared out of sight. The route which lay directly ahead had high, sloped walls engraved with geometric patterns, and ended in an empty plinth.

Loki approached the doors alone, with his own sword out, he stepped into the chamber cautiously. He turned, head tilted like a cat listening to something outside of hearing for a human being. “The tesseract is gone,” he announced. “And Thanos with it.”

Frigga nodded, then spun bringing one of her swords upwards in time to parry the downward thrust from Thanos’ blow. She pushed back, his surprise at her defense helping her to knock him off balance, before cutting at him with her other sword. “Not a trace of him,” she agreed, dipping as Thanos rallied and came at her again.

Darcy flattened herself against the wall and tried to stay out of the way.

Frigga was good, wielding her weapons like she was dancing, whirling while the silk of her dress span with her. He had the advantage of size, but not training, and only one weapon to her two.

“Thanos!” Loki yelled, advancing down towards the melee, and his appearance made Thanos pause, the blade of his swords locked against both of Frigga’s. Loki held between his hands the Casket, his skin blue, his eyes fiery red. “Leave her or I will end you.”

Thanos considered the threat for a moment, while Darcy’s heart threatened to beat out of her chest. She knew this wasn’t the real Casket, that Loki was playing the same illusion he’d used on Jotunheim, but Loki was chancing that Thanos didn’t know he no longer had access to the Casket. After a moment of consideration, Thanos grinned, a slow curl of his lips that said nothing of humor and everything of danger.

“Very well,” he said, “I have what I came for.”

And he shoved Frigga away hard enough that she was knocked into the wall with a terrifying crack.

The world seemed to move in slow motion as Darcy closed the distance between them, shock stealing her voice and keeping her from revealing her presence to Thanos. Not that he was likely to have heard her: not over the roar Loki had unleashed.

She fell to her knees beside Frigga, who had crumpled to the ground, eyes closed. She was too easy to move, limbs floppy as Darcy touched her, attempted to rouse her. Loki joined her, calling his mother’s name as he shook her.

“Stop it,” Darcy said, waving him away. Instead, holding Frigga’s head carefully, she lay her on her side, and then held her hand in front of Frigga’s face until she felt the telltale signs. “She’s breathing.”

“I’ll call for the healers.”

“And what will they do when they find a trail of bodies, you, and an unconscious queen?” she asked, brushing hair back from Frigga’s face and feeling gingerly along her crown for any sign of injury.

“That’s not important. I would return to my prison eagerly if it ensures she lives!”

Darcy was about to retort—a whine about what about her world, something so selfish after everything Frigga had done for her—but Frigga stirred.

“There will be no need for that,” she said groggily. “We have a realm to save.” She tried to push herself upright, and Loki held her firmly down.

“You were knocked out,” Darcy protested, “which probably means you have concussion. You should get that looked at.”

“Nonsense.” She gave Loki a firm look, one which seemed practiced enough to have been used many times during his childhood. It was a look he relented under the force of now, and allowed her to move. She turned her attention back to Darcy. “Asgardians are made of the sterner stuff than that. I have lost no limbs nor blood, which means I am able to continue with my task. And you!” This time, she narrowed her eyes at Loki. “This was a distraction, and you allowed him to flee.”

“You were more important, mother,” he insisted. “And I believe that by not immediately using the casket on him, I have revealed that I do not truly wield it.”

“Then we must sound the alarms,” Frigga said tiredly. “He has all the power he desires now, and our realm needs defending.”

“He knows the portal is undefended, and he has Heimdall’s sword,” replied Loki. “He will return to Midgard immediately, to finish what he started.”

“I know. Hurry—we may be able to catch him.”

Each summoned more ravens as they moved, and Darcy heard sirens echoing from the towers above the palace, a warning that the kingdom was in danger. She struggled to keep up with Loki and Frigga as they raced back along the corridor to the point where Loki had brought them inside. She didn’t need telling, grabbing hold of Loki’s arm so he could pull them back through space to the end of the Bifrost.

As her ears cleared, she heard the curse Frigga made—she didn’t know the word, but it had to be rude with the vehemence it was uttered. The air glowed when she peeled her eyes open, coming from the rotunda which Heimdall normally guarded. She recognized the sound coming from it—it was the same noise that had signaled an incoming visitor on the helipad.

“We are too late!” Loki shouted. A golden sword sat in the center of the machinery, piercing the central mechanism, and on the other side Thanos had vanished. He’d already opened the portal back to Earth.

“He has made one crucial mistake,” said Frigga. “He left the sword. Without it, we would not be able to follow.”

“He didn’t know how to remove it and keep the portal open,” Loki agreed. “Should we take it with us?”

“No—without Heimdall, we have less control over this side of the bridge. And when he returns to his post—which will not be long—he should find his weapon waiting for him.”

They ushered Darcy inside the rotunda and around to the opposite side from the bridge, Loki hastily adjusting the machinery so it would open the Bifrost for them again.

She’d only been on Asgard for an hour. Maybe not even that.

She kept her eyes closed this time, bracing herself for concrete at the other side. Despite that, her legs buckled underneath her, only a strong arm around her waist steadying her and keeping her upright. She opened her eyes to find Loki staring down at her, his face tight with worry and remorse.

“We should have left you on Asgard. Safe.”

“I wouldn’t have let you,” she replied.

It was staggering, to go from the uneasy hush on Asgard to the roar of battle here, but there was one big difference since before they’d jumped through the portal. The sky was clear, only Thanos’ mothership still hanging menacingly above them.

“Wha—” she started to ask, looking around for Jane, but her attention was diverted. So was everyone’s.

Thanos had climbed onto the very pinnacle of Stark Tower and was holding the Tesseract aloft.

“Time to admit defeat, Terrans and Asgardians alike!” he roared. Most people couldn’t hear him this high up, not when they had their own fights to concentrate on at street level. But on the helipad, directly below, they could hear him.

“The Tesseract won’t help you now,” retorted Thor. “Your army is cut off, as are you.”

“I don’t need my army when I have this,” Thanos replied with a sneer. “I could reduce this world to dust on my own.”

“Not without the right equipment to harness it,” piped up another voice. Tony came hovering up the side of the building, just above Thanos. “And most of that is now on galaxies away from here, thanks to a confusing little message that your ships’ systems received while their boss was absent, courtesy of future Nobel Prize Winners Lewis and Foster.”

“Holy shit, it worked,” Darcy breathed.

“It did!” Jane whispered back. “We gave orders to go home and they followed them. JARVIS booby-trapped the mothership too.”

“And you can’t call them back,” Tony continued, “because the portal’s been welded shut. We’re crushing your armies now they can’t keep being replenished, and you’re trapped here with a sweet piece of bling that you can’t use. You might as well hand it over.”

Thanos stared at Tony benignly, then turned his head to take in Thor, Frigga, and Loki in one sweeping glance. Darcy was caught in the backwash of it, though for her he reserved only a dismissive graze of his stare. It still sent a cold ripple down her spine.

“You’re going to have to take it from me,” he replied to Tony, his voice low and amused, though he did not look away from Thor. Thor took the challenge, lifting Mjolnir and preparing to knock Thanos from his perch, but froze. Darcy caught the shock in his face and followed his gaze, to the speeder approaching the helipad.

On it, Odin’s prone body lay crumpled.

The Chitauri manning the craft pushed Odin off and sped away, leaving the king to roll onto the harsh surface and groan in pain as he did so. He was alive, even conscious as he tried to keep his eyes open. His wounds did not appear visible, but blood bubbled between his lips as he breathed. Thor and Frigga immediately rushed to his side, Frigga dropping to her knees to cradle him while Thor glared up at Thanos.

Loki was absolutely still beside Darcy, but he couldn’t look away from the fallen king. She reached out to touch him—not sure if her hand on his arm would comfort him, or if she even wanted to give him comfort—but he didn’t react at all.

“You will pay for this,” he said, his anger colder than Darcy had ever witnessed from him. The threat was not delivered out of hot-blooded rage, but from a darker place, the kind of threat which would be carried out without mercy.

“You don’t have the stomach for it,” Thanos replied, mirth bubbling through his words. “Not the way I do—your brother can tell you all about that. I hope he bears the scars.”

This summoned a reaction from Loki: he lifted his chin to face Thanos, his back ramrod straight and his words as stuff. “I do not.”

“Pity. Mistress must have returned you to the world lacking them. It did give me such pleasure to cut into that pale, pristine skin every time you came back to me.” Thor and Frigga both flinched at his words, and Odin whimpered, whether from pain or the revelation. Darcy wasn’t sure if she reacted outwardly, but she could taste bile, the memory of Loki’s torture making her nauseated. “Did he ever mention that—how I killed him, over and over? How I cut him to ribbons until his blood formed rivers around my feet, and sent him to the arms of my Mistress, waiting for her to return him to me?”

Frigga was crying silently; Thor’s glanced at Loki before looking away again, his fist flexing against his side. Darcy remembered his denial of Loki’s story, but now shame and realization were creeping across his face.

“Oh yes, it was a delight to have him in my company. Before he failed me, and escaped my reach. But here he stands before me again, ready to become the emissary to my love once more.”

“You cannot win, Thanos,” Loki said. “You have already lost, even if you hold the Tesseract. Your army is about to be defeated, and we will take that cube from you whether you live or you die in the doing. Powerful as you may be, you are one man, and you underestimate Midgard if you think that you will defeat them. I have learned that lesson twice.”

“I am not you,” Thanos mocked him in reply. “I am not a weakling.”

“You fear death as much as any of us.”

Thanos scoffed. “I love Death. I am doing all of this for her!”

A new voice spoke up. “Then why won’t you come home?”

She was stood just below Thanos, tiny in comparison to him though she stared up at him with no fear. Darcy had no idea where she’d come from, and judging by Jane’s gasp, and Loki’s own confusion, neither did anyone else.

It wasn’t the only strange thing about the girl, who leaned easily above a precipice, cloaked in black, her long hair melding into the raven feathers of her garments. She was fine-boned and pale, barely a teenager in appearance, though she had an uncanny expression that suggested she was maybe, probably, older. She seemed familiar, though Darcy couldn’t pinpoint why or where she knew her from.

“Did anybody else see Wednesday Addams appear?” Tony asked. Nobody answered him.

Even Thanos blinked down at her sudden appearance. “Home?” There was unease in his question. Darcy didn’t blame him: she looked slight, but the girl gave off an aura of strength and power.

“Yes. It is time. Mother is waiting for you.”

“I don’t know who you are,” he scoffed, attempting to mask his unease. “Or who your mother is.”

“But you told her you love her.”

Understanding began to creep over Darcy. As if sensing this, the girl looked towards her, the sharp movement of her head birdlike. “Mama!” she said, a smile unfurling that made her face much sweeter than it had been a moment ago. And when she saw Loki at Darcy’s side, “Papa! You must meet me on the rooftop later. We have so much to discuss.”

She turned her attention back to Thanos, as Darcy tried to ignore the stares of everyone on the helipad, and figure out how the daughter of Loki and Mistress Death was calling her ‘mama’.

The girl stepped up, level with Thanos, her movements blurring as she moved so quickly, and plucked the Tesseract from his hands. She tossed it behind her, in the direction of Tony, who caught it without a quip or comment. “Come on,” she said, taking Thanos’ hand. He tried to pull away, but her grip was iron and unbreakable. “Grandpapa Odin has to visit Mother now. We can use his path to go home.”

Darcy thought the air shimmered around them, while the girl pulled Thanos off of the roof and into the open air, before they disappeared from the world.

A few feet away, Odin’s last breath rattled from his lungs.

A/N: Almost at the end - just a denouement to go, with plenty of important questions to answer.

[brawltogethernow]

Neutral Element - Cute Date Ideas: Dissect a Corpse!

A post on @greyskiesallclear’s blog suggested a “deuteragonist genderswap” of Girl Genius - Gil and Zeetha raised in each other’s places, Tarvek sacrificed to the Summoning Engine. And I was like *strokes chin* *really strokes chin* *reaches out and strokes someone else’s chin*.

Daily installments this week, then slower ones. Eventually everything will be collected polished up and chronological on AO3. For now, enjoy instances from along the timeline presented semirandomly. I’m not following the novels as a style guide for capitalizing terms &c., but may have a crisis of conviction and go back and edit everything at some point.

Installment Masterlist

Pairings: Agatha/Gil, slightest Agatha/Lars; Other characters: Zeetha; Length: 2k; Content notes: see the title ↑. Set right after this AU’s version of “Agatha’s Bad Plan”.

Previously in her adventures, Agatha was kidnapped by the baron who rules over the continent of Europe, befriended the baron’s son, a boisterous green-haired swordsman, discovered she was the lost heir to a family of infamous mad scientists, and then escaped with said son (and a talking cat) into the wastelands that dominate most of the continent. Undercover in a traveling circus, Agatha met the lost princess of a hidden city, an accomplished biologist and aeronaut, as she traveled across the wastes. ...Fair reader, why is it that I feel like you knew most of this already?

Agatha gets back into the blue blouse-and-peasant-skirt ensemble she was wearing that day (on loan from Pix) and packs a scant bag of supplies. She pats Krosp on the head and picks her way down from her wagon the first time the caravan collectively slows to turn a bend. She paces a short distance into the dark from the procession of vehicles, animals, and people, then puts her bag on the ground and kneels down to double check whether she has everything she may need.

“Sneaking out?” says Zag. He’s done that creepy thing where he sneaks up on her again, and Agatha, who tells herself she should be used to it by now, tries not to jump.

“I’m not going into Passholdt,” says Agatha. “…Probably,” she adds to be fair.

Zag stares at her consideringly, and she waits for him to admonish her. “You need backup?” he says instead.

Agatha smiles. This, this is why she let him come with her. “No. I mean, I think I’ll have some. And I know where the trouble is, so I think I should know how to avoid it.”

“You’ll have backup?” says Zag, looking at her expectantly.

Agatha responds with a rigid sheepish grin.

“…Uh huh,” says Zag finally, eyebrows quirking. “The wagons are going to pick up the pace again soon. How are you going to catch up?”

“I’ll handle that. I was looking at the maps Abner was planning with earlier, so I know the route.”

“That doesn’t really tackle the important part of the question.”

“Handled! Honest!”

“Your heroic escapades aren’t going to get you out of your morning run.”

Agatha groans.

Zag beams at her sadistically.

She stands up and picks her bag up to leave, and pauses, fidgeting. “I met someone who’s good at biology,” she says. “I’m just going to ask her for a second opinion.”

Zag furrows his forehead at her. “A spark? You met a spark in the Wastelands?”

Agatha waves her arms at the sleeping circus trundling by a few yards from them. “We met all these people in the Wastelands.”

Zag’s expression is still dubious for some reason. “Yeah, but…that’s not…” He breaks off, eyeing her and doing more things with his eyebrows.

“What?” she asks. “Why does everyone always stare at me!”

Zag rolls his eyes and sighs. “Oh, you,” he says, reaching out and ruffling her hair fondly.

“What?” demands Agatha. “Agh! Zagreus!”

He draws back his hand before she can catch it and enact revenge, grinning. “Well, don’t get yourself killed! I’ve put too much work into you, and we haven’t even started on swords yet.”

“Oh, god,” says Agatha.

 *

Gil is more amenable than she expected. She helps her find one of the things, and then she helps her take it apart.

 *

To Agatha’s surprise, Gil’s reaction to her visiting her camp in the middle of the night was not confusion or hostility, but to beam at her and go, “Oh, Agatha!” She looked so pleased, and Agatha’s heart warmed momentarily.

It takes them about an hour to trek to the bridge, collect the most intact corpse, and drag it enough of a distance away from the area to dispel both of their heebie-jeebies. They splay it out on a big, reasonably flat rock. The rock is reasonably flat because something sliced the top off of it: It’s lying upright about twenty meters away. They triple check the specimen for the vital signs of the living and the unquiet dead, and then make a Y-incision.

 *

It turns out that being allowed to get involved in dissection is disgusting. Agatha’s face feels like it’s acquired a permanently pursed expression. Gil wasn’t talking herself up: She’s examining the creature like an expert, not even blinking at the…mess. “Bone structure and musculature have both been radically altered,” she says, peering through a huge set of goggles. “But I think you’re right — this is baseline human.”

Agatha swallows her distaste and leans over it. “But are they people who have been altered, or just based on the template?”

Gil taps its hand against her (gloved) palm. “These weren’t grown in a vat; too inefficient.” She rotates a partly stripped joint. “And the wear on the bones is wrong. And I doubt they were imported — the alteration looks too recent, for one thing. And if they’re traveled here, they’d have left a swathe of destruction along the landscape. It’s not pretty, but — I’d say these are the townspeople.

Agatha exhales through her teeth. “So there’s nothing left to save.”

“Even if what did this didn’t get every citizen, Agatha…” Gil gestures at it. “Do you think you could survive camped out in a town swarming with these?”

“…No.”

Neither of them posits whether they could take on a town swarming with these. But Agatha feels better, knowing that Gil also wants to. She’s not that strange, not irrational to want to help.

“…Maybe some of them escaped,” she says.

“Maybe,” says Gil.

They stand there for a moment.

Gil cracks her shoulders. “Well, might as well finish examining this. If we figure more things out, maybe we could trace the source, or prepare the Baron’s people a little more.”

They dig in, and have barely started when they turn up the first oddity.

“What is this?” says Gil, extricating an object from the creature’s chest cavity.

The spiky shape is mostly decalcified shell, but is unmistakably the remains of a foreign biological structure. Whatever was inside the exoskeleton is mostly disintegrated, and it hangs floppy from her forceps.

Agatha pales, her eyes widening. “Oh my god, I think it’s a Wasp. They are revenants!”

“Rev —” Gil fumbles the tongs, horrified. “This is one of those things that turns people into mindless monsters? But — I didn’t think those did anything like this!” She gestures at the figure on the rock, its pulpy skin and twisted body.

“It must be some kind of new strain,” says Agatha, taking the forceps from her gingerly. “Master Payne was right. We have to report this. The Baron —” She shudders. “He isn’t very nice, but I know he doesn’t like Other tech.”

Gil bends back over the unnaturally lanky corpse and begins digging around, making little dissatisfied noises.

Agatha waves her hands around. “To develop something like this, you would definitely need access to the original versions of the slavers! Which means someone has a hive engine! Maybe even another new one! There was a new one on — in Beetleburg.”

(Wrist-deep in organ meat, Gil flashes a quick look at her and hums consideringly.)

Agatha waves her hands around, the urge to rant more anxious than mad. “It could mean anything!” she says. “It could be the start of another war! And I —”

Gil puts a hand on her wrist. To avoid touching anything that isn’t gloved with her gummy hands, Agatha realizes. “If this is something like that, breaking down how they work is even more important.”

Agatha makes a displeased but assenting sound, and leans in to help her strip it down.

After — long enough to give her a neck crick — Agatha pulls back and strips off her gloves. It’s gotten cooler as the night wears on, and the slick fluids on them are catching the cold. More importantly, she wants the better handheld light she brought from her pack, and she is not getting monster goo on it.

Gil has picked apart one of its eyeballs (yeuch) and is examining all the little parts, which doesn’t seem very precise, but then they are in the middle of a scrubby field. “Looks like they have improved night vision, but that makes them light-sensitive and decreases their vision overall. You said they rampaged when you shot at them? Was there a bright light?”

“Well, yes,” says Agatha, rummaging. She looks up. “But also a loud sound and, you know, it’s a death ray. It’s for zapping and burning things.”

Gil is staring at the skull. “I think they must navigate mostly by scent. You see this structuring here?”

Wait a second. “By scent?” says Agatha, having a hint of an inkling.

“Yeah, looks like,” says Gil, jabbing at something deformed and membranous. “Not really very efficient, but it’s effective enough.”

“Wait, says Agatha, “so —”

There’s a crack in the bushes behind them, and then they’re jumped by five Passholdt monsters.

 *

“SO IF THEORETICALLY WE DRAGGED ONE ACROSS THE COUNTRYSIDE, THEY COULD FOLLOW THE TRAIL THEN?!” shouts Agatha as they haul tail away from their rabid entourage.

“THAT SEEMS LIKE A SOLID HYPOTHESIS, YES,” shouts Gil, slicing at them with both arms as she tries to slash and run backwards at the same time.

 *

Agatha, as Zag so kindly reminded her, isn’t up to swords. They fall into a pattern: Gil keeps the monsters off of Agatha, and Agatha comes up with a plan to take them out and executes it. The amount of faith the other woman has in her strikes Agatha as faintly ridiculous, but there isn’t really time to argue.

Though the flailing of their gangling limbs and their tendency to crawl over each other makes them look like a bit of a mob, there are only about twenty mutated revenants on their tail. In the end, Agatha crushes them, all at once.

With a piece of a cliff.

She got the idea from their impromptu lab table.

She tugs Gil out of the way with a full-body hug — Gil is taller than her. They both go stumbling, there’s a ground-shaking boom, and then they’re both left, clutching at each other, standing in a silent expanse next to a new hillock. There’s a beat of silence. Their grips loosen.

“Woo!” whoops Agatha. “That was GREAT!” She grabs Gil by the leather straps and plants a kiss on her mouth, then spins around. “Did you see us?! We blew up a mountain! I blew up a mountain!”

“…What?” says Gil faintly.

The night air is chilly, but Agatha feels warm enough to power Mr. Tock. “And I didn’t even ruin my dress this time! Ha! Take that, insidious pattern of destruction!” …It’s still kind of the worse for wear from the explosion that evening, but there’s no new damage, anyway.

“You did, you did blow up a mountain,” says Gil, responses slightly delayed.

“Wow! Wow,” says Agatha, blood still singing with it. “We should do that more often!”

“…W-we should?” says Gil, who also seems flushed, and no wonder, what an adventure, ha!

“Definitely,” says Agatha.

“Guh,” says Gil.

 *

“…So! Can your flying machine outpace land-based travel?”

 *

Agatha spends most of the morning konked out in her wagon, for some reason.

“Geez, Z, maybe you should go a little easier on her,” says Lars.

Zag snorts, staring at his student judgingly.

“…If she’s been here, who was driving Baba Yaga earlier?”

“I think she might have made it drive itself now.”

“…Wow.”

Zag smirks at him. “Oh, yeah.”

“No! Not like — ! …I, uh, have to go. Perimeter to scout. Y-you know.”

Agatha, you broke the princess.

“Lars Falls in Love” happens as per normal canon. Yeah. Those are right on top of each other. IT’S OKAY, IT’S FINE, AGATHA IS PROBABLY POLYAMOROUS IT’S FINE.

In mythology Zagreus is either another name for Dionysus (Greek god of partying, cha cha cha!), or his own entity. In either case the story goes that a goddess took offense at his existence and tried to assassinate him in infancy (and succeeded: the common trait of stories including this name is Zagreus being torn to pieces), but his father absconded with him and restored him to life.

[arcticdementor]

Most of the stuff I need to do I can get the right tools and materials. But where that fails, I’ll have enough knowledge and understanding (by now) to contrive.

It’s not different for mental tools. In my oh so cherished fantasy of sending my mind back in time to when I was 20, note the deal would be “I get to take the skills I’ve acquired with me.” Why? Because at this point — and providing life stops interrupting every five minutes — I can write saleable books while tired, while sick, possibly while dead. I have internalized a bunch of mental tools on “how you do this.” When I was 20 I had more time, arguably was more methodical in proofreading, and had more enthusiasm and energy, but I lacked the tools. And what I produced took more effort and often showed thumb marks and badly mitered joints.

For some things, like the fact I’m stuck working in a language that was not my first or second, there is no remedy. I just must be that much better at using it, much closer to understanding how the thing works, so I can do consciously what would otherwise be subconscious.

So.

Recently one of my young friends came to me with an astonishing story. One of his young friends had no idea who the combatants were in the Civil War. No, she didn’t know what civil war meant. She thought it was just a name. You know like it was an exceptionally polite war.

We are now in the fourth generation from whom the tools of building civilization, or even of maintaining it have been withheld. Yes, four, and I’m the middle one.

Most of my adult life has been learning things that someone should have taught me but didn’t for whatever reason.

…

In the same way, I’ve spent most of my adult life learning history, grammar, natural science and the basics of things that I supposedly learned the advanced form for with my degree, but without anyone ever teaching me the fundamentals.

Kind of like part of my degree is the study of literature but until I read Dwight Swain Techniques of the Selling Writer I’d never realized that books are composed of conflict and reaction units. (No, not physical conflict, though heck, you could sell that.) Instead I tried to fit them into the structure of plays and wondered why it wasn’t working.

Because no one had ever taught me the basics. I mean, I knew how to do a lot of advanced things, even as a beginning writer. I just had no clue how to do the basic things. And it showed.

For four generations our culture and education has been in the hands of an unholy hybrid of Marxism and Rousseau’s Romanticism. (The two are related in that both believe that natural man left to his own devices creates paradise.)

I can understand how those scarred by the long war of the 20th century would decide that they were going to ditch all the evil bad things in civilization and let the children grow up “naturally” so they would be sweet and innocent angels. (Spit.) I understand but I don’t forgive. If they thought what they saw in the war was the result of Western Civilization, they’d never studied other civilizations or for that matter hid in a playground and watched the children be “natural.”

Then the cascade started. People who only half learned could only half teach. On top of which the doubts instilled in them about the purpose of civilization made them teach less than half. And the next generation knew less. And then less.

More than once, as an inquisitive student, I’d go to my teacher and ask why something worked the way it did or didn’t work the way they said, only to be given a glib explanation I knew was wrong. I must have been 11 the first time I realized the teacher had no more clue than I did. (This was a good thing. It set me on a path of researching and investigating on my own.)

By the time my kids were in school it had become more so, partly because to justify themselves, and abate the feeling they were incompetent, people derived entire theories on why they shouldn’t learn the basics, learning the basics was bad, and you could be so much better by learning naturally.

…

Part of the unlearning are people who never learned enough to realize what works and what doesn’t trying to do things in ways that only work for a very few highly gifted individuals. That’s how we got whole word, new math, total immersion, whateverthehelltheyretryingnow all of which involved “less work for teachers” and the vague hope that unschooled children, or children who learned ‘naturally’ were just somehow ‘better.’

Kind of like what would happen if I decided my digit dyslexic, half-baked way with wood meant my making, say, a table that was lopsided and wobbly made the table better and more authentic.

The problem is that in lieu of teaching our kids history or civics, what works and what doesn’t, we let people so ignorant of how the world works that they don’t realize they’re teaching the kids the just-so story of classes and oppression which was never true like that anywhere, and the religion of “social justice” instead of the real mechanisms of history. Because they know no facts, and can’t reason, they pat themselves on the back and say they’re teaching the kids not things, but “how to think.” Except they’re not. What they’re teaching the kids is how NOT to think. They teach them that thinking “wrong” is a crime worse than murder, and therefore they can’t risk reasoning, because it might lead them to dissent from the group. And dissent from the group is the most terrible of crimes. (To be fair, this is an effect of mass-industrial-public-schooling.)

Their inability to teach, now forces them to declare the most basic tools of civilization racist and somehow oppressive. Because this is an excuse not to teach math or English. Which they can’t do because they never learned, and they’re not willing to do the work.

If you’re not alarmed by this, you might be a Marxist or a Rousseauan who believes that by unlearning everything, we will be like angels.

You might also be an idiot, who never had to deal with infants or toddlers, or in fact ignorant and half-savage people.

Honestly, I believe this is at the bottom of their sanctification of the Homeless, because by eschewing civilized life (not really, but that’s how it looks to the left. In fact the homeless are kind of like rats. Domesticated and destructive of the society upon which they feed) and destroying their reason with drugs, they are somehow superior to us, who are bound by civilization. This is why they want to inflict the homeless on every large city, creating danger and filthy conditions for people who live and work there. “Afflicting the comfortable” is supposed to make them change their ways and… I don’t know? Become homeless? As if there were some great happiness in that.

…

This is going implode. And by this, I mean this shell of civilization and knowledge, and ability that surrounds us and protects us. Already, anyone in highly technical fields is being actively hindered from doing their jobs by “administrators” which is to say maleducated people who know only how to make rules about how others should do things. And since they know nothing real, those rules are often counterproductive.

Heck, even in my field — not highly technical, but specialized — editors and publishers seem convinced their job is to “teach” the public, instead of sell to the public. Partly because they have no clue HOW to sell to the public, and are in the fourth generation that lacks basic skills to do so. (Like being able to read for pleasure.) They have therefore laid down rules that make it harder to produce and publish enjoyable works.

But it’s everywhere. And in research? The time frame and conditions of the research often makes the results flawed or irreproducible.

Oh, and of course, hiring people by skin color or sexual orientation makes bridges fall.

Even teaching — My kids had two or three good teachers who had escaped somehow — is made impossible by rules and regulations that have nothing to do with teaching or learning. (So those good teachers left to work the private sector.) As for parenting– In most states the law forces you to be an helicopter parent. I lived in fear of my kids being called in when they took their walks half a mile away to buy hotdogs at six. Even though at six I’d ranged all over the village all day, and come dragging in for dinner at sunset.

Anything worth doing is worth doing well. And doing it well requires tools. Mental tools. Sure, you can do it upside down and sideways, with tools you found, but you still need to have tools.

In what comes after — and I’m suspecting/hoping it’s been somewhat postponed by the unlocking most places. People are so busy traveling and gathering they haven’t paid attention to politics. But it will come. The Junta will do something so egregious it will intrude on everyone’s notice — after the implosion/explosion that waits us, we need the tools to build.

Our kids certainly don’t have them.

Absent the tools they’ll default to “not fully civilized but trying” human method of governance, and really, I’m way too old to live under the divine right of kings.

…

Go back to the basics of civilization and acquire the tools. They won’t work very well, because acquired late, but it’s better than nothing. (Later, either after we move, or in a month or so, after house is ready to stage and we camp somewhere for a few months, in an apartment or something, I intend to re-learn Latin and Greek, which I taught myself poorly and late. At that time, we’ll set up a room where other people can come and walk along. We need that. A sort of free form academia, where some teach and some learn. I will, yes, in a month or two, set up to teach writing. Yes, I will charge, and I’m sorry. It is just what it is. One way or another, we’re going to need it. I’ll try not to do more than once or twice a month, or it eats the writing.)

It’s time to get the tools. To learn to do things. Whether those things are how to make clothes, or how to speak a foreign language, they might not save you much money or they might be totally impractical.

But you’ll be learning how to learn. Learning how to claw back a little bit of civilization, and basic knowledge. And then you should pass it on. By every way you can. Lest night fall forever.

Because 2000 years of civilization are a terrible thing to waste.

[boldlybad]

Caffeine Challenge #28: Fire

For @caffeinewitchcraft‘s Caffeine Challenge #28.

I closed my eyes and breathed in fire. I felt my lungs crackle and burn, the smoke spreading through my body as the world ignited around me.

“No,” Chad screamed, “I won’t let you!”

I clutched the ruby tighter, feeling it pulse and throb in time with my heartbeat. The trees in the clearing around us caught with an emphatic puff of air, more a feeling of being pushed on all sides than a dramatic explosion. I probably should have learned a bit more about fire before I put the ruby into my bag of tricks a few days ago.

But really, I’d known even then if I had to pull the damn thing out, I wasn’t going to be worried much about what came next.

Chad’s armor clanked as he stomped toward me and I pushed the flames between us a bit higher. His unique stench of Axe body spray and sour popcorn wafted toward me. Kill it with fire, Heather giggled in my memory. “Kayla,” he said, trying for exasperated father and sounding more like a constipated Chihuahua, given that he was younger than I was. “Kayla, you’re being irrational. You’re getting emotional. Hysterical. You’re letting your emotions get control of you. Just put the stone down.”

I let my eyes drift open. He was sweating. I permitted myself the smirk I’d been holding back for what felt like forever.

Chad snarled, his lips twisting and his eyes going even more beady than usual. “You fucking bitch!” He reared back, armor sounding like someone had shoved it down a flight of stairs and hurled his stupidly giant sword at me. A claymore, he’d explained over and over, just like the real knights used.

I snorted. The dull, museum quality metal glittered as it sailed through the air, slicing through my circle of flame. I squeezed the ruby again and it bit deeply into my flesh. The sword froze.

I cocked my head. “You know that’s not a real sword, right? Dumbass.” Blue and white crept into the fire around me, licking down the blade and raining sizzling beads of metal onto the grass. The tiny hairs on my arms whispered against my skin as they singed off, and my skin began to blister from the searing heat. Heather would know what temperature steel burned at. Both Fahrenheit and the other one. But Heather was dead.

Chad threw an arm across his face and backed away. “You can’t do that! You can’t do this!” He stomped his foot, sounding like the world’s saddest chorus line. He actually stomped his foot. Ugh. Heather had been the smartest person I’d ever met, and I had no idea what she’d seen in this guy.

“Watch me.”

I locked eyes with Chad and watched his lips quiver. I let my smile grow, let him see how sharp my teeth were. How there were a few extra that the orthodontist hadn’t quite known what to do with. I let him see how badly I wanted to barbeque him in that stupid armor he bought off of eBay and rip the flesh from his bones like my grandmama’s baby back ribs.

“You,” I inclined my head, “are not in a position to negotiate.” I lifted a foot, set it down, and watched my burning circle inch toward him. In the distance I heard screaming, smelled burning tar and plastic, but couldn’t bring myself to give a damn.

“You lost that right.” My rage-fueled fire and I stepped forward, and he scrambled back. “You lost that right when you tried to reincarnate yourself as King Fucking Arthur.” I raised my free hand and slashed the air, green fire lashing out like a whip between us, shaving leaves and branches out of the trees over his head. They crashed around us. “With movie props you bought off the internet.” I cracked the line of flame again, causing him to jump back. We were almost to the burning tree line and I felt my rage building, feeding the huge circles of crackling flame trapping us both in this slice of hell we’d made together.

“You lost that right,” I whispered, “when you killed my girlfriend.”

Chad dropped to his knees. “She was my Nimue,” he wailed. “My Lady of the Lake!”

Fire and smoke licked through my blood. Curled up my spine. I felt it peek from my eyes. “She couldn’t swim, you stupid asshole!”

Orange really does flatter you, Heather had whispered, wrapping a thick, warm scarf she’d knitted with her tiny perfect hands around my neck. I’d ducked my head then, mumbling something about the women in my family not looking good in warm tones. I’d never told her the real reason I’d kept the brightest of my mother’s jewels sealed behind three locks in the box behind my sweaters.

“I’m sorry,” another voice whispered. I opened my eyes again, my beloved floating away on the ash of my vengeance. Chad peered up at me, the lines of his body and the set of his chin too arrogant to grovel properly.

I cocked my head again, letting the green flame wrap around my wrist and char me down to the bone. I wouldn’t need the muscle much longer, and power like this demanded a certain amount of sacrifice. “Are you? Are you really?”

“Uh. Yes?”

“Then apologize. Properly.”

His eyes darted around the clearing, as though the soot and smoke might give him a few pointers. “Um. I just did?” He rolled his shoulders back and crossed his arms over his chest. “I said I was sorry. What more do you want?”

I stared at him. At his arrogant face, at his stupid “I’m going to Yale in the fall, you peasant” haircut, at the shining gorget that was beginning to sear his flesh where it touched his neck. “I want Heather back.”

He shrugged and spread his arms. “Well you did all this, didn’t you?” Chad chuckled and the sound drilled into my brain. “You made some really pyrotechnics.” He began to slow clap, his gauntlets clanging like dented church bells. “Bra. Vo. You know, you could make some serious money off of this. But really. If you can do all this? Bring her back.” He stood and pointed an accusing finger at me. “Bring back my Nimue. Get her to give me the sword and then the two of you can have your little lesbo happily ever after.” Chad spread his arms wide once again, as though he were accepting the nomination for senior class president. “I’ll even let you two ladies visit Camelot, once I’m finished rebuilding.”

“Yeah, no.” I glanced down at my closed fist and watched dark blood stream down into the blackened, singed grass at my feet. “You’re a dick, Chad. Camelot wouldn’t let you muck out their stalls, let alone run the joint.” I forced my fingers open, one bloody digit at a time. I could feel them cracking and popping as they snapped away from the ruby. This little piggy went to market… this little piggy stayed home… this little piggy wrote essays about the goddamn Kill Your Gays trope and was super pissed to find herself living it… this little piggy thought long and hard about vengeance when Heather’s body was pulled from the lake two nights ago… and this little piggy decided she was just fucking done swallowing her pain.

The ruby lay in my palm, pulsing dully. I could still walk away. Put this ruby back in the box, next to the delicate diamond band I’d bought for Heather. That I’d been waiting to give her at graduation. The ruby glowed, another point of light in the blinding, crackling world of flame I’d unleashed.

I looked up at Chad.

“Did you want to see some real magic, little man? I’ll show you some real magic.”

Many, many thanks to @caffeinewitchcraft for organizing a marathon of Caffeine Challenges this long holiday weekend! I... really hadn’t realized how long it had been since I sat down and wrote something. Still super rusty, but I appreciate the opportunity to use structured challenges to at least try to get back on the horse.